


Will you dance with me?

by IwaKitsune



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Everyone is having a bad time in varying degrees except [REDACTED] but they will learn, Gen, PK isn't that bad here, The swap is not that simple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwaKitsune/pseuds/IwaKitsune
Summary: The Kingdom of Hallownest is a place brimming with possibilities, cradled by wastelands and overlooked by many different beings who only seek to see it flourish and grow.A mistake, committed ages in the past and still in the path of being mended, encounters a great problem. Should it not be fixed, more than simply the kingdom will meet its demise.Now then, would you allow me this dance?
Comments: 67
Kudos: 113





	1. Skipping Steps

**Author's Note:**

> This is a big work in progress, and updates will be spotty but I hope against hope I'll be able to get to the end of this AU. A big thank you to ursik-l on tumblr for the permission to use their art as inspiration, and to my friend Jora for helping me along with ideas.  
> Take the violence warning seriously for the end of this chapter please! Do enjoy!

Small claws helped anchor them as they hauled themself up the different ledges, slowly approaching the metal platform that hung above the deep pit of the Abyss, distorting the light that came from lanterns outside and from a strange webbing that glowed a pale gray at the mouth of the tunnel. Their cloak bore a couple snags from spikes that stood on their way as they ascended, providing some protection to their still soft, black carapace.

The distance from the egg they had hatched from to the top of their birthplace was almost too great for them to do in one go, with tricky tendrils and slippery rocks as the only footholds they could use. Resting for a couple moments to let the ache of effort wane made the temptation to sit down all too strong, but the void inside them bubbled with a need, a mission, a desire. They couldn’t stop, not yet, not until...

They leaped and managed to crawl up and onto the platform, their arms and legs tired from the climb and stinging at that final hit against something so solid. The webbing at the entrance became more noticeable as they moved closer to it, admiring the faint glow before taking a series of confident steps onward. They passed through with only the slightest whisper of something curling over their mask and around their thick, three-pointed horns, a sound that held itself strangely familiar in the air.

There had been no pain or sensation other than the gentlest caress of Soul. They had no reason to stop moving now.

The path continued straight ahead, with stones that shone with runes and intricate lines as they moved past them. They ignored their curiosity, burning as it was in their chest, until they reached a wall that was far too high for them to climb on their own—they had tried, only to slide back down a couple moments later. They stopped, stepping back enough to assess the situation and glance around to see if there was anything that would aid their climb or lead to a path easier to follow.

A booming sound and rumbling came from above, with only a slight shower of dust as warning before a bug hopped down to where they were standing, bulky form shaking the ground. They tensed up, looking up at the bug who turned quickly to face them, the white armor nearly shining in the darkness around the area, with large claws of dark bluish-gray at the end of each arm, a pair of horns somewhat similar in shape to their own crowning his head, and a spot of fur in similar color poking from the bug’s armor. The Vessel was nearly intimidated by the sheer presence the bug exuded—before he grinned and squatted to look at them closer, claws held down and away, doing his best to not appear threatening. His voice was just as voluminous as his entrance.

“Aha! You got further out than first expected, little one!” He lifted one great claw and patted the Vessel’s head twice, a hollow sound coming from the rough affection that nearly made them stagger under the force. The bug stopped, helped steady them, and gave a slightly sheepish smile. “My apologies, I’m simply excited. We’ve been waiting eagerly for you, you see.”

The Vessel didn’t give much reaction, instead turning their mask again to look up at the way the bug had come from.

“Yes, yes, of course!” The bug stood up, claw to his chest and posture vibrant. “You must be just as excited. Here, let the Great Knight Ogrim aid you in your ascent and arrival to the White Palace!”

The Vessel turned to look at Ogrim as he waited for some sort of tale or reaction. Tilting their head slightly, they faced him fully and approached, waiting for him to do whatever he was planning. They were quickly swooped into the arms of the large bug, feeling their void do a flip as he crouched down and launched himself and his passenger upwards. His claws, far stronger and thicker than their own, easily dug into the stone and allowed him pull both of them up the short fall, bypassing a couple ledges on the way. They clung to the arm holding onto them tightly, extracting a deep chuckle from the other.

The surroundings were a blur until Ogrim finally placed them on the ground with great care, making sure they were steady on their feet before giving them some space. He spoke clear and loud as he swept a claw towards a path far different than the one they had traversed, a bridge of some sort leading to a building of sharp and elegant lines and no colors, what looked like particles of Void and Soul gently drifting upwards and disappearing into a ceiling so far above they couldn’t see it from where they stood, swallowed by shadows. “There it is, the palace stands before us! Isn’t it a magnificent sight?” He started walking down the bridge, glancing back at them as they followed in their eternal silence, seemly not bothered at all by it. “It must be quite different from the place you were at, isn’t it so, little one?”

The Vessel had to jog in order to match his pace, and moved their arms a couple times, their empty eyes staring expectantly up at him. The knight loved children with all his heart! But it was a very special challenge that rose with one who could not speak. “I’m afraid I’m not the one with the answers you seek, little one.” This seemed to deflate the small child, who instead took to tapping their knuckles to the top of their head a couple times. Ogrim looked on as they did that a couple more times, head tilting slightly between each round. “Hm, is it the sound?” That seemed to perk their attention and he couldn’t help but grin widely. How cute, it probably was still getting used to having this body, finding little discoveries like those. “Surprising how hollow it sounds when it actually isn’t!” Ogrim laughed, giving a much gentler pat to the Vessel’s head between their horns.

If the Vessel had given some form of reply or reaction, Ogrim went unaware as they approached the entrance of the palace. An armored bug with a strange scythe stepped aside and a retainer emerged from the doorway, bowing to him. “You’ve returned, Great Knight.”

“Indeed, and with the results of a fruitful encounter! Now, little one, go on with this one to the Pale King. He has far greater knowledge than I could provide.” Ogrim nodded to both of them before turning to a path past the wall separating the gardens of the palace from the gate, giving one last wave to the Vessel as he disappeared from sight behind a corner.

The Vessel tore their gaze from the spot and glanced at the armor, seeing something dark within the white, before they focused on the retainer standing now between them and the inside of the palace itself. Silence remained between them for a couple seconds too long before the retainer, a small beetle with a prim collar and cloak, shuddered under the unintentional scrutiny.

“A-ah, I never get used to the empty eyes...” The retainer mumbled, twisting his hands together before shaking his head and motioning the small Vessel to follow him into the large building that stood, pristine and intimidating, a hardly noticeable distance above the home of the Void.

He didn’t speak as he led them through tall halls and twisting paths, though he did turn a couple times whenever he heard the sound of running steps—on one of such glances backwards, the retainer caught the Vessel sticking their head through the umbral of a random doorway that opened to one of many rooms used by visitors and guests of the King. He saw them lean away from the door and rushing to catch up with him, their little feet giving the softest taps as they pounded against the carpet. They were only noticeable thanks to the silence that permeated the hall otherwise.

The retainer mused to himself quietly, perplexed by the strange behavior, but didn’t bother trying to decipher it when there were more pressing matters. Such as taking the newest guest to his King’s presence, announcing their arrival with a careful tone and a bow. “My King, the Great Knight Ogrim has returned from his mission.”

The Vessel walked to stand beside him, only walking further into the room as another bug acknowledged the retainer’s words and stared at them plainly. “A new one it is.” They stayed still as the bug stood from his throne, the central piece in a room large and cavernous. The Pale King walked closer with the quietest skitter of multiple legs carrying him, an entity that exuded such presence that almost didn’t feel right with his general appearance, his cloak immaculate and a glow constantly around him.

They thought, privately, about how apt to call the Being before them ‘Pale King’. Curious, too, that the King hadn’t done much more than check them over and muttered to himself in a low voice, black eyes studious—their color not nearly as deep as the Abyss, nothing could match it, but with some form of weariness that made them long to offer reassurance. And so they did.

It was then that they realized the King couldn’t hear them or understand the wave they sent through the shadows that lingered between them.

(Similar had happened with the Great Knight, but they had brushed it off as them being tired and mumbling. They thought, for a moment, that maybe the glow was the cause of the distortion now that they were sure to speak clearer. It was a bit later that they noticed, truly, that no one seemed to understand them either.)

It didn’t matter much, the King had finished his examination, having turned their head from side to side in his hands with quick and careful movements, something they complied to with ease, and now he had taken to ruminate in his thoughts as he waved for the retainer and ordered to call back the one who had lead them here. Their question went unheard and unanswered, though they did catch the King’s attention when they started looking around and daring to approach different exits of the room, even when they didn’t do more than take a peek without meandering far from the general area around the King.

“It’s been doing that with all doors, my King...” The retainer said, bowing deeply before retreating to find the Great Knight.

The Pale King nodded slowly, turning to face the Vessel and taking a couple steps closer. They stood at attention, matching the eyes with a gaze of their own, hoping against hope that he would suddenly understand what they were thinking about—looking for. They couldn’t find out if the King would have realized, interrupted as they were by another retainer who poked her head into the room, taller than the previous one and giving a curtsy. “My King, the room has been prepared. Is there anything more you might wish for?”

“Excellent timing. Lead the Vessel to it.”

“Of course, my King. Please do come with me, young Vessel.” She hummed, moving her arm in a sweeping gesture like Ogrim had done earlier at the bridge. The Vessel followed her out of the tall room, feeling the eyes on their back as they rounded the corner after the retainer. She was a little bit chattier than the previous one, actually telling him which wing of the palace they were traveling through and informing him of what usually occurred in each area with a lilt to her tone.

They crossed paths for a moment with the first retainer and Ogrim, exchanging nods and quick bows but neither stopping as they went.

Both retainer and Great Knight bowed to the King once they finally entered the room before Ogrim straightened, full of vitality and curiosity. He pounded a claw against his white armor. “My King! Is my assistance required?”

The King bowed his head briefly in acknowledgement and spoke up, hands lost under the sleeves he held before himself. “Loathe I am to send you off so soon after your return. I have two quests for you: First, make another round, be certain this Vessel is the only one climbing out.” Ogrim nodded, standing ramrod-straight at attention. The King paused, mulling his thoughts for a moment with closed eyes. “And second...”

* * *

The room the retainer had led them to was fairly big, though cozy when compared with some of the other rooms they had seen on their way. She had introduced them to the place, informed them of what was around and how to call for any one available retainer should they have the need, and bowed briefly before skipping away to attend other duties. The Vessel stood in the middle of it, gaze lost past the immaculate bed with its white and pale gray sheets and pillows. The shadows whispered to them of use, familiarity, but they were low and quiet, nearly gibberish.

The trail they were following had passed through here, possibly, at some point. But it had long gone cold and the shadows here could only so much as mutter unintelligibly of what they could provide. This palace was not what they looked for, what they needed. Perhaps the Pale King knew of where to find what they seek but returning after having been sent away so quickly didn’t feel right.

They could look on their own, they thought, tapping their mask again a couple times to make the sound ring in the air. It somewhat helped their thoughts settle and separate from the whispering shadows, still much too loud and difficult to distinguish from each other after so little time of having this solid-thin barrier between them. They listened, for a moment, to the shadows that mumbled of travel.

Echoes of voices of bugs—retainers—who talked with each other about taking the Stag from a hardly-known station out of the palace grounds, from what little they could understand from the gibberish and muted feelings the shadows provided. (So close to the Abyss, the shadows were easier to hear and understand, also having less a chance to dissipate when contained in the vague glow the whole palace gave.)

They couldn’t wait more, waste more time, and running into any other bug, retainer or otherwise, would cause further delay. They climbing out the window overlooking a small garden thanks to the meager grip of their claws, stumbling with a little too much force onto the floor but showing nothing for it; they sneaked along the greenery, their dull green cloak helping keep them from the view of workers who glanced into the gardens, until they found a tall wall surrounding the palace. They had seen Ogrim walk into the gardens instead of the palace, and followed the wall as best as they could until they could see a somewhat familiar room inside the palace. Careful and as quick as their legs could carry them, they ran along the outside wall and past the corner, seeing nothing but a suit of armor standing by the entrance of the palace.

They looked up at it, the blackness inside familiar, but didn’t pay it much mind—and neither did it react as they bounced past the door and glanced at the other end of the bridge, opposing the one they had come from. They ran.

After a long sprint, they burst into a fancy and well cared for station with a trench in the middle leading to a large tunnel. A golden bell hung from a metal contraption they whacked twice with a small, metallic stick that had been hanging from the same contraption, after tapping it with their knuckles failed to extract a loud enough sound. The ringing of the bell was a clear note that reverberated against the walls and down the tunnels; the Vessel tapped their knuckles against their mask again, feeling the sound vibrate between their horns instead. Ogrim had said the sound was... hollow, right?

They liked that sound.

Their train of thought was interrupted as a pounding started from the darkness of the tunnel, making everything shake as a large bug came running out of it. The newcomer was huge, bigger than Ogrim; in fact, the bug was big enough to possibly carry the knight on one of the seats strapped to their back with little issue at all. The bug huffed and looked around, dark eyes settling on them as he twisted his head to look at them. He spoke with a deep voice, gruff and kind with age, the moustache-like fur moving with his exhalations.

“Hello, little one. It’s quite rare to see one so young call for us Stag Beetles, and if my sight hasn’t failed me, this is the Hidden Station. Quite rare indeed. However, a call is a call, and we will answer to it.” The Old Stag said moving slightly closer to the platform to make it easier for the Vessel to climb on. “Where are we heading to, little one?”

They blanked, glancing around and clenching their little fists before their gaze fell on a bunch of signs. They pointed at the topmost writings—what better place to start after all—getting a huff of affirmation from the Old Stag before he coaxed them to climb and hold on.

“Little one, know that I will inform anyone that asks of your whereabouts the last place I saw you at.” He warned, shuffling again to face the correct direction on the tunnel. “Stag Beetles do as we have been taught, but I admit concern for the wellbeing of one as young as you. Luckily, Dirtmouth is a rather peaceful location indeed.” They only could nod, not knowing if the Old Stag could see them but having no other way of showing their acknowledging of the words.

They shot off through the tunnels with the thundering pound of the Stag’s legs against the well-worn stone path, illuminated intermittently by small lanterns of lumaflies. Once again, they clung tightly to the one carrying them.

* * *

They climbed off the Stag and onto yet another lonely station, bowing slightly like they had seen the retainers do before approaching the strange contraption that slowly ascended with a clatter to an upper floor. They rushed out, sprinting with an eager energy as a vague familiarity made shadows hum all around them. The little town of Dirtmouth was not very busy, with some bugs meandering about and shops with signs hanging from the doors; their eyes fell on a bench that shone slightly under the light of the lumaflies hanging above it, and an old bug standing by it, who met their gaze for half a second like they were trying to place them.

They didn’t let it bother them and instead ran the other way, towards the source of the shadows they felt so keenly, only half aware of the little startled sound coming from behind them as they leaped down a stone well. They followed the traces of something familiar and ignored most everything else, barely sidestepping a couple stalactites that nearly dug a hole into the edge of their cloak as they stabbed down on the floor.

It wasn’t long before they skidded to a stop in front of a strange structure—strange by the terms of someone who had not experienced the world yet, though perhaps not for those used to the kingdom. Large and dome-like, with walls the color of stone and a couple windows in such a way they resembled a bug’s face; they paid it only a couple seconds attention before the tug of the shadows pulled them inside.

Stranger still than the building was what it housed: another structure, smaller and egg-like, somewhat buried in the very stone. It was dark, as dark as the rocks that the Void constantly touched upon, and facing the entrance of the building itself was what almost looked like a mesh of thick, smooth ropes and solid blackness. They moved closer, touching the darkness—stones, but charged with a most familiar sensation—before pushing with a little more force.

Their hands pressed against the solidity without much progress, so they started digging their claws at what they guessed were seams between the stones, the ropes that held them tight. Their claw found a small hole where the rope dug into the darkness and they focused their energy into chipping away at it. They felt the shadows give under their meticulous hands, falling away slowly until there was a crack in the barrier barely big enough to get their head through—and then it was like the very shadows tensed up and refused to move further, no matter how they tried to pull and push and whisper to them.

It was enough, they felt, and instead of struggling to remove them further decided to use their size to their advantage. Maneuvering their horns in and through the entrance took time and energy they wished they weren’t wasting in something so silly, but they were _there_ and the feeling was so familiar and so close they could feel it at the tip of their fingers. As soon as their mask made it through, it didn’t take long for their small body to follow suit with a rather undignified crawl that left them kicking at air and then dropping unceremoniously onto the floor.

It was then that they truly noticed how dark it was inside the structure. It felt like home, but there was something wrong.

They stood quickly and, not even bothering to brush off the dust clinging to their cloak, sprinted further inside. Circles and symbols in red appeared at the edges of their vision. They paid them no mind. One more door seemed to materialize before them as they went. They passed the frame.

The sound of a steady pulse thudded through the air, quieting the whispers of the shadows. _Ba-bump, ba-bump._

A circular room opened before them, with accents of red, pink, and purple in shapes that they didn’t pay mind to, not when their focus was on the figure kneeling on the floor. Even in their current posture, the figure was far taller than them, seemly thin under the dark blue and somewhat tattered cloak that hung around their shoulders obscuring most of their body, their head a white mask with two long horn ending in prongs, their forehead tilted to the hilt of a large weapon dug into the floor before them, one of their hands clasping the hilt of the intricate nail. Most would have thought the figure a statue.

If it weren’t for the subtle movement of something under their cloak, making them quiver in tandem with the sound that echoed in the room still. If it weren’t for the glow of a bright red in the wide eye sockets. If it weren’t for the cracks that ran across each eye, up-to-down, no longer weeping Void or Soul; the mark of old scars. If it weren’t, in the small Vessel’s case, for the heartachingly familiar shape of the horns and hum of the void inside them.

**Sibling!**

They called, sprinting closer to the figure. There was another presence, large and heavy, and they felt it hovering _above_ but before they could cast their gaze upwards the figure stood with unnatural fluidity.

They froze on their tracks only half a step from the point of the nail, now angled directly in front of their chest. They stared at the weapon for what felt like an eternity before trailing their gaze up to meet the eyes of the other Vessel. They noticed, then, a strange bundle on the other’s chest, pulsing with the sound and colored purple and dull pink, with ropes anchoring it to the Vessel’s chest like clinging tendrils digging into black carapace, wrapping around part of their arm.

The smaller one whispered, again, this time with confusion. The tall Vessel quivered and moved the arm wielding the weapon, pulled back—pulled to strike, as the smaller of the two soon found out, stone floor they had been standing on a blink earlier now shattered and raining against the arm they had raised to protect themself.

**BEGONE.**

They winced at the loudness of the voice, a shrill that dripped with pain and deep-seated rage. They hesitated as the Vessel rose their weapon again, movement slow and calculated.

But this was the one, it had to be, it couldn’t be anyone else!

They tried again, extending one hand to them pleadingly. **I’m here to hel—**

**BEGONE.**

Bellowed the Vessel with a soundless scream that made their surrounding shake; quivering as well, a stutter in the beat.

**NOT.WANTED.**

**LEAVE.**

The smaller one couldn’t come up with words before the other gave another howl—loud in a way the others had not been, with a pulse of black and red sprouting from the ground that sent them flying and crashing against the wall. Shakily, they rolled back to their feet, trying to ignore the pain ringing through their soft carapace and the dazed fog entering their mind. They stood straight as another beat accompanied a heavy step, head raising to look at the Vessel moving closer.

They brought their hands up, pressing their back against the wall behind them, trying to pacify the other. **Sibling, it’s... it’s me.** The Vessel stopped advancing, quivering with the beat like a doll to a music box. Hope welled inside their little’s chest, encouraging them to step forward. Move closer to their sibling. **Remember?** Of course they did, they wouldn’t forget.

It had been a promise.

A spell of Void and Flames shoot towards them, leaving only enough time to step to the side to not catch it in full—their arm stung as the fire licked it.

**MUST.LEAVE.**

**MAKE.YOU.**

**BACK.**

The Vessel yelled still, like they were trying to drown the beat under their non-existent voice. They stood frozen in place as the other lifted the nail high in the air, eyes burning bright staring them down. There was madness in those eyes, and nothingness.

**BACK.PLACE.BIRTH.**

The deadly blade came down on them. They shot aside.

A silent yowl of their own resonated in the shadows, blind panic and _something else_ blurring their sight as they were thrown to the side. Their small hand clutched at the place pain radiated from, making them dizzier as claws grasped leaking void, rendering them to press their forehead against the floor and curl up as if that could somehow diminish that sheer burning. The beat in the air, in the room, in their head, only became louder and more overwhelming.

There was a couple stuttered beats, a shaking step moving towards them. Without knowing how, franticly thinking only of putting distance, they felt the shadows around them curl tight and a change in the air.

The beat was gone, something in them realized, as was the heat and the burning eyes. Whatever little energy their body still had had been sapped by the sudden teleportation, exhaustion cutting the last threads of their consciousness. The Vessel fainted just outside the door they had crawled through, now with more ropes—tendrils, veins—curled and digging into the black stone.


	2. Reset and Proceed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vessel awakes and there is so much more they are not aware of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate new year (and also me finally beating NKG), new chapter! Things are slow going but they will make sense in the future.

There was a beat.  
Constant, steady, endless—  
Much too quick, nearing a frantic rhythm.

Darkness spread around them, swirling circles fading in and out of the air with intricate patterns in string pulsing a deep red tone. Strange and warm, temperature the polar opposite of the deepest darkness they were accustomed to. The pulsing led in a direction and they followed, steps silent as they caused ripples on the ground, only visible as they caught the vaguest hint of scarlet light, moving away from them uninterrupted. Curious, confused, they looked down at the floor and met their reflection. The white of their mask nearly glowing in this infinite black, catching the red that came from nowhere.

A tendril rose from the floor and curled around them with blinding speed, reflecting and emanating a red that crackled like glitter and sparks. They didn’t make a single movement as it tightened its hold around their small body. The pulsing quickened, the tendril's grip tightened like a dangerous beast meaning to suffocate its prey, the temperature it emanated rising as it gained more and more color in beats that matched the sound all around them.

Red. Red. Red. Danger.

The Vessel could have struggled, should have struggled. They felt their body tense and finally—finally—try to twist away as the tendril burned at their carapace, a pain that felt distant and a dread that slowly bubbled in the void inside them.

Black swirled into the pulse of the color, driving it back with a chill that was far more familiar. Biting cold chasing away burning.

Red. Black. Red. Black. Red.  
_Red._

Pain bloomed as the tendril dug into the weakened carapace of their shoulder, their sight flashing white. A figure cloaked by smoke, ensnared by the same tendrils, stood before them. Tall and imposing and bathed in the deep scarlet that surrounded them, a beacon of white marring the head, and with a swipe they cut through the Vessel’s bindings, only for them to fall.

Fall and fall and fall—

They shuddered, exhaustion keeping them from truly jolting.

Tired. Tired in the way that made everything ache, an uncomfortable weight to every inch of their body. Their void felt as heavy as lead, knocking against the inside of their head like waves pushed by a breeze against the shore. Slowly, the Vessel became aware of things past the discomfort, noticing first the contrast between it and the warmth the rest of their body felt.

Their sight returned sluggishly, swimming for a second when they lifted their head. Something soft shifted under their weight, supporting their head as they let it rest back against it—a pillow, soft and malleable and pristine white. White, actually, was most of what their blurry sight was able to take in. Even with the lumaflies’ glow as low as it was, dimmed under sheets that made it fuzzier, the room’s pale walls and furniture still reflected light. The darkness here was nowhere near that of the Abyss’, but it was certainly the best that could be done while still letting bug who needed light do what they needed without stumbling or struggling too much.

Something moved at their side and they tensed up, sight still much too hazy to tell what it was—but it was a slow movement, remaining in their line of sight as to not startle them, a weight gently placed against the top of their mask between their horns, like... like how that big bug, the knight, had done a couple times when they met. They remembered that, at least, though this touch was far more careful, almost as if apprehensive. The Vessel leaned into the touch, eyes slowly focusing as they fell on the glowing figure next to them and the hand rubbed a small circle against their forehead.

The Pale King didn’t stop the careful caress, claws trailing the edge of the horns while another hand was busy twisting the sheets next to the Vessel, the other two clasped tightly together to keep himself from reaching out with them as well. Soul magic traveled through him in that familiarly steady pace, using the conduit of physical touch to have it travel from his hand to the small figure tucked into the bed, a blanket of healing energy settling on them.

The Vessel looked so small, surrounded by pillows like a nest and tucked in the blankets. A sick child in every sense, if the reaction to subtle affection was anything to go by. The King swallowed back a shaking sigh, letting out a slow exhalation instead. “Child...” He called gently, voice low and quiet as to not disturb the stillness of the room or the other occupant. His hand moved from the top of the mask to carefully cup at their cheek, rubbing a claw against a small scratch. “I would have rather you being asleep for this, forgive me if this pains you.”

The hand went downwards, grasping the edge of the blanket keeping the Vessel from moving and pulling it down enough to look at their chest. Neither of them reacted much at the sight of bandages dressing their upper half, nor the fact they wrapped tight and precise around the stump connected to their shoulder, the cloth tainted with darkest gray and small lines of pale gray writing themselves on the visible carapace. The lines glowed white as the King touched the Vessel’s shoulder, a whisper of warmth flowing through them as the Soul magic did its best to heal what was left. Their void almost recoiled from the light, though not quite doing so; the discomfort of the sensation made them wince.

They started shaking, too, as the jolt brought images of black and red and white to the forefront of their mind.

The pale glow numbed the lingering pain of shattered carapace and still tender void closing up the gaps, guided by the light, but it didn’t protect them any against the memories of the tall figure—sibling, sibling they had been looking for, had been _waiting_ for—and their weapon. Of the beat in the air and burning spells and the screaming not-voice that was part agony and part anger. Not at them, they thought—desperately trying to convince themself—not directed at them. Even when the nail had been pointed at them, had been driven into them, they could _feel_ their sibling’s desperation. The lingering ghost of a desire for _something_ that they didn’t know of.

The Vessel couldn’t stand it. The memory of their sibling attacking them was too much, digging into their insides like thorns, but it still lagged under the feeling of wrongness that reverberated in their chest when they recalled the burning red eyes. They were there, their sibling’s ghost-whispers were there, but something changed. They needed to know what it was, needed to make it better. Needed to help their sibling and take them from the ensnaring veins and burning beat.

They had been too weak for it.

The King slowly ebbed the magic away, knowing a sudden cut of the energy could be painful to the recipient, and instead went back to gently rubbing soothing circles against the mask, other three hands digging into the sheets. He muttered softly, ‘it’s okay’s wrapped in a careful and steady tone. The Vessel curled up, small black hand clutched at two of his claws as they continued trembling.

The shadows in the room were too quiet, merely repeating soft echoes that they could barely hear if they paid attention. They were so different, oh so different, from the darkness in the Abyss, the soothing comfort of waves sent through the Void by beings long asleep and curiously awake. They felt the absence of the murmurs of their siblings and home keenly, but the King’s tone and hesitant touch were enough a reflection they shifted to cling to it. Inside, they felt their chest drip like a wound with fear and sadness, welling up so much they could feel small blobs of inky void gathering at the corner of their eye sockets and cut a path down their mask, shoulders shaking with what the King would guess as hiccups and sobs even when there wasn’t any sound to accompany them. His heart shattered and, pushing away his guarded and calculative nature, he moved.

There was a dip on the bed as the King carefully sat on it proper, two of his arms gingerly gathering the bundled Vessel and holding them close, trying not to brush against the healing stump too much, last free hand brushing away freezing tears as he hesitantly tried to calm them down. They let go of the claws and instead clung to the cloak, pressing their mask against the King’s shoulder as they wept. The King, awkward as he was, didn’t do more than continue whispering little comforting words and chirps, rusty with disuse, swaying the cradled child steadily.

After a time, the shaking subsided, the grip relaxed, the drops stopped flowing. The Vessel fell asleep taken by exhaustion and the clumsy comfort, and the King was careful as he placed them down again on the pillow nest, extracting himself slowly and returning to his seat by the bedside, one hand remaining on them at all times. A small knock brought him back to the present.

Carefully so he wouldn’t cause the chair to creak or disturb the child, he extracted his hand from the lax grip and approached the door, straightening as he opened it. His posture relaxed slightly as he saw not a retainer but Ogrim standing on the other side, large claws running against each other with anxious energy as he did everything he could to keep himself as quiet as possible.

“Knight Ogrim.”

“My King.” Ogrim bowed his head, stilling his claws and lifting one to his chest, tapping at his armor. “My apologies for interrupting you.”

“You wish to inquire about the Vessel.” The King exhaled slowly at the nod from his knight, running his claws against each other under his sleeves as he did so. He stepped past the threshold and gently closed the door behind him with a click, unwilling to let more light or sound reach into the room and risk disturbing the occupant. “They awoke, briefly, and are responsive to touch.”

Ogrim perked up, relief rolling off of him in waves. He spoke with what felt more like a stage-whisper, even though he was truly trying to keep quiet. “Oh, that’s great to hear! Finding them in the temple like that, I feared the worst for someone so small still...”

“You did good, Knight Ogrim. It was I who misjudged and was too late to protect them, that mistake won’t repeat if I so can help it.” The King said, not bothering to lower his voice further, already quiet as it was when he didn’t need to project it. He raised a hand to stop the knight’s protest, eyes serious. “I do have a request for you, Great Knight. We know their mission, and their drive was great enough to send them there already. The Vessel will need to learn how to defend themself, undoubtedly a skill that will awaken with ease shortly after they start. Can I trust you and Isma with this task?”

“It would be an honor.” And a challenge, he thought, already thinking of other soldiers who might have more experience with fighting after sustaining such an injury. It was better to ask for advice and be prepared. The King nodded, waving a hand to dismiss him, though he stilled his turn when Ogrim spoke again, hesitating for a second before going forth with his question. “My King... but what if the Vessel doesn’t wish to learn to fight? Many soldiers look for other paths after losing limbs.”

Silence stretched between them before the King set black eyes on Ogrim, expression as neutral as it often was.

(That mask had slipped for long seconds when Ogrim barreled into the Palace with the Vessel delicately held in his arms, the bandages around them already stained and heavy with leaking void. When the King personally helped the medical aid with tending the worst of the injuries as quickly as possible.)

“They won’t stay here forever, perhaps not even for long. They need to learn the basics to avoid something like this happening again. When they are ready, I will call for you.”

Ogrim could only nod, excuse himself, and wander away to find his fellow Great Knight while the King opened the door again, disappearing inside the room with another quiet click resounding in the hall.

* * *

The Vessel woke to a soft shuffling sound, the once pounding headache having dulled to a mild discomfort even though the soreness on their body had yet to abate fully. They shifted on the soft nest, their claws catching on one of the pillows and freeing themselves with a quiet pop.

“Oh, you’re awake!” They flinching for a second and turned their head to the voice. The female retainer who had shown them their room stood near a cabinet, one of her hands resting on a small pile of blankets and a duvet all carefully folded; she continued speaking, voice chirpy and yet quieter than she had been before. “Forgive me, I only meant to drop these here. I’ll be off your antennae in a moment.” She patted the pile, tugging open a drawer and setting them inside in an orderly manner, seemly unaffected by the staring from the bedbound Vessel.

Hardly a couple minutes had passed when she closed the drawers and turned her attention to them, the tilt of her head most of the expression of curiosity with her face hidden behind a mask. “Is there anything you’d like me to do for you, little Vessel?”

They stared blankly before slowly sitting up against the pillows, pausing for a long couple of moments as they tried to coordinate their one arm enough to shift their body. The silence in the room grew more and more suffocating, with the retainer standing in place with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for any kind of order or gesture to interpret, and the Vessel raising their hand to trace the—clean, must have been changed recently—bandages around their body, only to gingerly touch their shoulder, hesitantly brushing their claws on the stump there.

“I’m sorry about that.” The retainer whispered after a moment, averting her eyes and running the claws of one hand over her other. They turned their attention to her. “I don’t—I probably shouldn’t even mention it, probably, oh. But... you are so small and you had been here an hour earlier, we thought—maybe it was just me—that you’d be tired or at least stay closer. No one thought you’d have...” She shook her head. “It was very frightening to, well... to see you brought back in that condition. No one really mentioned what happened, but there’s talk through the vines... with those burns...” She paused, shifting from one foot to the other before lifting her gaze to meet their empty one. “We should have warned you of the Nightmares.”

They stared, silent. She stood straight and uncomfortable, a clear contrast to what she had projected earlier. Their staring match continued before she finally slumped her shoulders a little, a half-laugh half-sigh leaving her.

“Oh, I can’t tell if you’re unamused by me and my rambling or if you simply can’t reply, little Vessel...”

They sat up a little straighter, tapping their hand continuously against their blanket-covered lap. That got a small laugh from her, hand lifting to cover where her mouth would be.

“Is that interest then? You can say yes by moving your head up and down, and no from side to side.”

They nodded, the motion interrupted by a wince. The retainer made a little sound and moved to their bedside.

“Oh goodness, better not to have you move too much still, your injuries are still pretty fresh—oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Here, you can say yes and no like this too!” She lifted her hand clear in their line of view, first closing it into a fist with the palm facing them, her thumb folded over the other fingers. She moved her fist by bending the wrist a couple times. “This means yes—” Then, she stilled her fist and put it again with her palm facing them, unfurling the thumb, pointer, and middle finger and then closing them quickly into a pinch. “—and this means no.”

They brought their hand up again and carefully tried to mimic the signs, silently grateful that the retainer was happy to repeat them a couple times with them, easing their nerves.

“There, that’s a start. Think it is useful, little Vessel?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad! Now, I should get back to my duties... is there anything you’d need me for?”

“No.”

She squinted her eyes behind her mask, happy to see the Vessel understood the signs and looked eager to reply now that they had a way to do so. “Understood. I’ll let the King know you’re awake but do try to rest some more still. No running off into the caves again, little Vessel.” She tutted, giggling to herself before gasping. “Oh, I don’t mean to be rude—that was a joke.” She didn’t give them much time before sputtering a little and turning on her heels, going to the door and opening it to the slightly more blinding white outside.

She stopped, turned to face and bow to them, giving her farewell and gently closing the door with a click.

They watched as she left, the blanket of silence in the room settling gentle over them, so they focused on the shadows, listening to their soft murmurs. Most of it meaningless or repetitive, the occasional hum of concern that they couldn’t be sure were from the echoes or the Void, so close and yet just far enough.

They leaned back onto the pillows, flexing their fingers and doing the signs a couple more times until they felt less stiff. Their hand fell again to their lap before rising to touch the bandages, pressing against them and feeling no pain underneath. Finding the edge of the cloth and unfurling it from where it was tucked, they unraveled themself as best as they could, pausing as some twisting caused pain to flare through the soreness. Before long, the bandages were cast aside over the pillows and their claws trailed their carapace.

A couple discolorations from scratches and the heat of the spells, things that would fade soon enough should they allow themself rest—perhaps even faster if the King used his healing spell on them again.

That thought made their attention—and hand—move to the shoulder the King had been focused on the last time they were conscious. It felt numb, the pale gray lines glowing slightly as they brushed their hand against them. Now without bandages they could see the true extent of the damage: the cut had been clean, all things considered, through carapace and void alike, lingering heat from scarlet fire causing a burn and graying to what remained of the black plating at the end of the stump—most of it was healing and scarring over, far faster than it would should they not have been treated with Soul magic. They wiggled the stump a little. It felt strange and weightless—though they didn’t particularly weight much in general—but didn’t hurt.

They sighed silently, chirping to themself as they tapped their knuckles against their mask, extracting again the little hollow sound. It vibrated up their horns easily. No damage to them then, a relief.

They busied themself with the bandage, struggling to figure a way to fold it so it didn’t lay in a tangled, messy pile on the bed, ending up moving to their knees and folding it by the middle again and again as best as they could. The result wasn’t as tidy as they had seen the blankets, but much better than they had been before, and they found entertainment in pushing it down slightly only for it to rise up slowly again.

Eventually they were off the bed, legs quivering under them as they held onto the blankets for balance before scooting along the edge, hand ready to catch them. Soft, they noticed with interest, most of what they touched was soft here other than the structures holding everything. Pillows and blankets made the most muted thuds when they rapped their knuckles against them, while metals rang a little louder, like the bell at the station, going high only when tapped with the end of their claws. The door of the cabinet made a clear, hollow sound much like their mask.

The Vessel looked up. Out of their reach was a small pot, intricate designs around it, lovingly crafted in gray clay, but without anything inside it that they could see from where they stood.

The King opened the door with a measured push. His wings flared and he made a small, choked noise before shooting forward and grabbing the Vessel under their arms before they could fall off their precarious perch on the open drawer of an upper cabinet, a myriad of open drawers trailing the path they climbed.

“Child, what do you _think_ you’re doing?” He asked, doing his best to stamp down the flustered anxiety from his tone as he set the Vessel down on the floor; his glow gave off enough hint of his emotions in the dim room. They turned around and lowered their head sheepishly, hugging the little clay pot to their chest. The King’s wings and glow lowered, his voice a sigh. “Oh.”

The Vessel offered their prize up to him and he only shook his head, hands disappearing under his sleeves except for one nursing the space between his eyes. “No, no, you can keep it. You did get to it on your own... instead of staying in bed. Speaking of.” Gently, he placed a claw against the Vessel’s back and guided them back to the bed, lifting them and their prize up onto the soft nest with ease. “You’re much too eager to explore, are you not...”

They set the pot on their lap to free their hand. “Yes.”

The King paused, staring. They met the gaze. The King inclined his head slightly to the side and leaned forward, dark eyes focused on the Vessel before him, studying them.

“You are conscious that is a sign, correct?” They repeated the gesture. The King leaned back a little, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before focusing on them, raising a hand to his chin and tapping with a claw. “What a bright child, for something just out of the dark. Curious indeed. Can you say no, too?”

“No.” They signed, feeling pride bubble inside them at the hum of interest from the King. It deflated a little at the next question:

“Do you know any other signs?”

“No.” The Vessel’s shoulders dropped a little, head shaking from side to side to reiterate as their hand wound around the pot on their lap, gently running fingers against the small details carved on it distractedly. They gave a nigh silent, startled chirp as a hand was placed on top of their head, prompting them to look back up at the King.

He gave them another little pat. “No shame to that, Child. You’ll learn fast enough.” The hand retreated and the Vessel tilted their head curiously as the King started muttering quietly to himself in thought. “Might be slower, more complicated, with only one hand but still doable. If they know how to read, it’ll be far easier to learn the letters. More specific signs can come after that.”

The Vessel tapped their knuckles against the pot three times, the sound just enough to catch the King’s attention back to them in the present. Undisturbed, he nodded to himself and brought a hand up, waving it to summon wisps of white energy to curl in the air.

“Shall we have a lesson, then?”

He was, silently and internally, endeared by the excited bounce of the Vessel as they scoot close and stared intently.


	3. Lessons A Plenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vessel still has much to learn, with a great variety of teachers and topics.

The Vessel soon discovered the meaning of the scribbles they had seen on signs and the occasional glimpse at a tablet, amazed by how quickly those lines started forming coherent words when put together in just the right way. It felt like they had seen them before, that the lessons imparted by the King—and reinforced by the same female retainer who seemed to linger around them—were almost more a refresher than a true start from zero.

The retainer had praised them for their swiftness in grasping the meaning of letters, showing them some tablets and silk scrolls with simple exercises so they could point at the answers due to their lack of voice. The King had commended them on that as well, with less fanfare and continuing to make things only more and more complicated as they progressed—sentences were trickier but not impossible to grasp.

A quick learner, he had said. It made their chest swell with pride.

And relief, too, when the King on the third day had led them out of the room for their lesson. A change of pace they dearly needed—the King had noticed their growing restlessness along with the return of their strength and balance, and the war they were wagging with themself as they tried to follow the instruction of not leaving the room without an escort after their prior escapade, looking longingly out of the window to the garden below.

With their injuries having healed well enough and the spell the King had cast to ward off pain on their arm being dispelled to let them adjust, they took every opportunity in the following days to explore all that they were allowed to: the halls, particularly the wing where their room was located in, as well as a sector of the gardens closed by high walls and holding beds of flowers and a small hedge maze, one of those white armors with deep dark inside them standing watch at one of the entrances that would lead to other areas.

The Vessel sat on a marble bench on the garden, kicking their legs slightly as they took a break from exploring, watching as particles of Soul drifted in the air like specks of dust, the rare Void one mingling with them.

“There you are, little Vessel!” They perked up and looked towards the entrance to the hall, waving a hand at the retainer as she approached them. “Little rascal, you are good at moving around quickly. I’d almost swear you can teleport!” Her giggle turned into a short laugh at their shrug and hand-wave. “True, I wouldn’t put it past you, full of surprises...”

The Vessel waved their hand in her direction, a simple gesture to call her attention. She tilted her head, prompting them to continue. They pointed downwards and then drew a question mark next to their head, tilted as well to convey inquiry.

“Why I’m here? Right, right! The King said he’d like to speak with you, asked me to fetch you.” She offered her hand and they took it, allowing her tug them off the bench and lead them down the high, monochromatic halls. They tugged at her hand lightly, letting go and clumsily mimicking gestures of what they recalled of different moods when she turned to look at them. “Oh, no, no! He didn’t seem angry at all, if that’s what you’re wondering about, but I don’t know what he wants to talk about... I’m sure it’s important though, I did hear him call another retainer when I left.”

The walk to the throne room was uneventful, with the Vessel’s worries assuaged for the time being and the retainer hurrying her steps slightly. The very same large room they had brought to for the first time mere days ago opened before the duo, immaculate as it had been before, though now with a couple more occupants. A pair of the white armors stood flanking the entrance, their presence a nagging weight at the edge of one’s conscience. The King sat at his throne, listening to the worries of a bug clearly not from the palace—they weren’t wearing the white cloaks everyone else did, even the Vessel had gotten a pale gray one to swap with their dull green.

“And we haven’t heard back from the village closer to the west side of Pilgrim’s Way, Your Majesty.”

The King stayed silent before tapping his claws in a quick rhythm against the arm of his throne, straightening in place. “We will see to it as well; supplies should hold for the coming weeks. No merchants are to enter or leave without explicit permission.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Anything else to discuss.”

“No, Your Majesty. Thank you for your consideration, I will tell the others...”

The Vessel watched as the bug turned and jumped, startled at seeing them staring their way like a little statue. “Vessel, come here.” The King called with that resounding voice of his. They perked up and walked forward, their long cloak half floating being them as they approached the throne. They saw, from the corner of their empty eyes, the bug shudder and hurry their steps only for the retainer to bow to them and offer to lead them to the entrance.

“You have made much progress.” The King spoke, standing from his throne with the quiet skidding of claws. “Both in your learning of basic communication skills and your recovery. It is time for you to learn how to defend yourself.”

The King raised his head to the door as it opened, revealing Ogrim with his recently polished white armor and another newcomer shorter than him, six eyes of a warm, dark color and a skirt of leaves under her white-gray armor, her helmet held under one of her arms. They turned to look at them when Ogrim spoke.

“My King! Ohoho, and the Vessel, too! Is it time already?”

“Great Knight Ogrim, Great Knight Isma.” The King nodded his greeting, expression blank and hard. “It is time for you to acquaint with the Vessel. You are to train them in the art of fighting, whichever technique they are proficient in that you might find.”

“Yes, my King.”

“And you—” He turned to look at them, who stared up at him attentively. “—are to learn all you can from them.”

They nodded, their agreement much more subdued than the dung beetle’s display. They approached the Knights as they bowed to the King, turning to leave the throne room after a handwave of dismissal. A retainer bowed and held the door, letting them go out while a different visitor—a beetle holding a number of silk scrolls—hopped in, chirping a polite greeting to the group.

Without any retainers around for the rest of the walk, the trio walked in a direction the Vessel had not been allowed to explore before. Silence didn’t last long, it’s end punctuated easily by the puffing up of Ogrim’s chest before he looked down at them, his large claw tapping with a little too much force between their horns. “Good to see you so soon after that incident, little Vessel! Probably don’t remember, think you were out like an exhausted lumafly, but I was the one to bring you back here. Quite a distance you covered!”

“Ogrim, they most likely don’t want to recall those things.” Isma spoke up, her voice the mildest scold as she raised a hand to her chest while the other cradled her helmet placidly by her side, the second set of arms relaxed and crossed behind her back. She looked down at them, they felt the way her gaze softened. “I certainly hope you healed well, little one. You truly are very resilient. We haven’t met, please allow me to introduce myself.” She slowed to a stop, curtsying lightly to them and offering one of her hands to shake. “I’m Isma, honored to have been knighted by the King and to be trusted to help prepare you for trials ahead.”

The Vessel mirrored her, though their motions went mostly hidden by their silvery cloak, and they rose their hand to touch hers—only to hesitate. Left hand. She seemed to notice in that same instant and extended the twin of the offered hand as well, gently grasping theirs between both of hers and giving a small shake. She let go shortly after and the Vessel tapped their fingers against the healing side of his carapace under their cloak, thinking to themself.

“Indeed, it is quite an honor to be allowed to help!” Ogrim added with his usual grandeur, resting one claw on each of their backs and—gently, for someone with his size and energy—nudged them onwards to continue walking. He didn’t bother removing them. “Has the King told you what you’ll learn with us?”

The Vessel rubbed the bottom of their mask a little before shaking their head, fingers quickly tapping together. “No.”

Isma hummed, glancing down at them. “I heard you’ve learned quite a bit of reading and communication, but what we will teach you is different—and the main reason it took until you recovered to start is because it will be quite physically straining.”

“It is possible that you might find it easy, but forcing yourself too much will hurt you and that is not the goal of this, understood?” Ogrim said, his voice turned serious, and the Vessel nodded in acknowledgement. The group stopped by a large, polished wooden door with a smooth iron handle, Ogrim reaching to open it and sweeping his claw to present the inside. “Welcome to the training room!”

The room was spacious and well illuminated with wide lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the polished white stone of the floor changed for a sturdy wooden one, and further in stopping and dropping a step to one of packed dirt. Training dummies, clearly used and repaired time and time again, were set on one side, shelves holding different weapons near them. A wall on the other side of the room had openings with wide panels—windows—through which small vines and leaves from the gardens sneaked their way in.

They glanced at all the equipment in the room, expression of their mask unchanging but the clear interest in their stance was enough of a tell. They glanced up when a pair of hands fell on their shoulders, prompting them to look at Isma while Ogrim made his way to the weaponry.

“Since we will be moving a lot, it would be best to take off the cloak. We don’t want it getting dirty or damaged, right?” She said, gently guiding them towards a bench a small distance from the entrance. Folded on it was a dull green bundle that they immediately recognized as their original cloak. They went to unfold it, resting it on the bench.

Slightly more tattered than when they had first set foot on the palace, with the most noticeable difference being a clearly shorter-than-it-should-be part of the right side.

“Your new cloaks are being made still, so this one will be the one to use during training until those are completed. Gashes have been already mended but the length couldn’t be saved completely. Do you want help with it?” Isma said.

They simply rubbed their fingers against the darker cloak, feeling the nearly invisible new seams. Thoughts of black and red came to mind.

Their hand reached up for the small cloak pin they were wearing, unclasping it somewhat clumsily after a couple tries, and struggling to remove the pale cloak as carefully as they could to avoid dirtying it. Isma looked on as they did so, only reaching out when they offered the cloak to her with a sheepish dip of their mask; she busied herself with folding the cloak to place it on the bench while they started with the old one, hanging it unevenly on their shoulders and working to put the clasp on it again.

“That color quite suits you, little Vessel.” Isma hummed with a warm smile, a hand to her chin as she placed her helmet next to the pale cloak and reaching out to smooth out a couple wrinkles on the green one they wore.

“Right? This pale one doesn’t look bad on you, but this one feels more natural!” Ogrim added as he walked closer, carrying a couple of wooden nail on his claws. “And it’ll get less blemished while you train, which is a plus. That said, let’s get started!”

Isma giggled, shaking her head slightly as they bounced slightly on their feet, hand curled to their chest eagerly. “Your excitement is contagious, dear...”

Ogrim handed the nail to them hilt-first, letting them take it from his claw and experimentally twist their hand and arm, swinging it a little like a wand—it was light, being made of soft wood, and they had far more strength than their tiny body seemed to promise at first glance. “See now, that’s a nail! A practice one, at it. There exists a great variety of weapons, and some bugs use these in order to fight, especially when they lack natural means to attack and defend themselves such as claws or truly sturdy shells.”

The Vessel stopped moving to listen intently, tilting their head half an inch before fumbling a little with the nail, propping it against their side and raising their now-free hand to wiggle their fingers and the tiny claws with which they ended at.

“True, you do have claws and those will be useful for quite a couple of things and causing minimal damage.” Isma interjected, kneeling besides them and raising an arm to hold before them, armor glistening lightly under the shine of bright lights. “However, try to scratch this.”

They glanced at her, hand retreating a little closer to their chest, but when she merely nudged her arm closer and gave another nod, they reached forward and tried to dig the points of their claws into the armor, only to slide off, catching momentarily on the grooves.

“Now, I have this extra protection covering certain areas of my body that might get in danger’s way. There are ways to protect yourself, either natural like Ogrim’s own shell, or created like this armor. Just like how weapons can be used in cases one can’t cause significant damage with what one naturally has. However, even these are not faultless—Ogrim?”

“Of course!” He rested his large claw on the same place in the armor that they had scratched at, sliding it in a quick movement that left a bigger, noticeable graze. “I could cause more damage, but it’d still provide enough protection to keep it from being possibly life-threatening. The same would go for my own, in fact! While I can handle quite a number of hits, the vibration can cause dazing and pain, and enough force can cause it to break. There’s no shield without cracks and no weapon without drawbacks, little Vessel.”

“It should also be said that not everyone will use shields or shells to protect themselves, sometimes simply being able to dodge is the best defense one can have. Being quick and nimble instead of bulky and constrained. There are many different fighting styles; usually, one comes more naturally than others.”

“From what we were told, you’re quick on your feet and capable of getting to tricky places with minimal difficulty. It would do some good to try and keep the cumbersome armor out of the equation for freedom of your own movement, as well as making sure you aren’t weighted down should you need to climb up some sort of surface. However, an added protection would not do you wrong...”

Isma paused, raising one hand to her chin in thought. “Perhaps some sort of reinforced chainmail for the new cloak. It would also help practice balance and stamina with that slight extra weight.”

“Indeed, but that’s for later—Now then!” Ogrim nodded, straightening and prompting them to pick up the nail. “With all of this, we believe it would do some good to learn a couple of basic nail stances. These can be useful with other weapons, but each has their own set of core positions due to the very nature of them. The weight of the weapon can also affect them, but this practice one will have to do until a proper one can be forged to your needs. Nails are used for short range, while another weapon known as a Needle is for short and medium range, sometimes long range if the wielder has the required abilities.”

Isma took the nail Ogrim handed her, standing and facing in a direction that would let the Vessel see how she lifted her arms and changed the position of her feet. “Copy me.” They nodded, tightening their grasp on the nail and shifting to mimic Isma’s posture. “Good, raise your arm a little, feet apart. Yes, perfect! Now, make sure your balance is at your center...”

* * *

“Block. Block. See how I move to make sure my balance isn’t thrown off.”

Hours had passed when a retainer finally knocked on the door, opening it to reveal the Great Knights having a quick, simple sparring match with the Vessel watching from a spot on the floor, legs tucked under them and making them almost disappear under their cloak. They stepped away from each other and bowed briefly before turning to the newcomer, the Vessel perking up and looking behind themself as well.

The retainer smiled lightly and bowed to the ones in the room before standing upright, hands clasped before herself. “Good afternoon, Great Knight Isma, Great Knight Ogrim. I’m here to inform you that lunch is to be served shortly, and so I must take the Vessel to freshen themself up. The King also extends the invitation for you to join him at the table if you’d like.”

“Thank you. Please do let the King know we will be joining, dear.”

“Thank you indeed, it’d be quite an honor!” Ogrim puffed out his chest lightly. “You did well, little Vessel! Remember that while we’re teaching you, we’re also training your stamina, if you ever need to stop do let us know.”

“Learning limits and pushing them, not breaking them.”

The Vessel stood easily, giving a nod and bowing down to the Knights—their short stature made it a little difficult to tell if not for the slightly swish of their cloak and the dip of their head being more pronounced. They turned and hopped onto the wooden platform, looking up at the retainer as she waved her hand at them, shifting the pale cloak they had removed earlier in her arms and bowing one last time before leading them out into the halls and back to their room.

“Did you have fun?” She asked, making sure her pace wasn’t too fast for them to be able to remain at her side. They nodded, moving their hand in repetitive ‘yes’ signs. She giggled, a sense of relief flowing through her. “Oh, I’m glad to hear! I could never pick up a nail, I’m simply not made to be a Knight...”

She hummed a little in confusion as they tapped their chin and waved to get her attention. They started signing a trail of letters slowly until she understood a word. “‘Knights’? They are a group of people who use different sorts of weapons to fight for a cause or protect others. Mostly those of us who do not use weapons and instead focus on other tasks that must be done. I’m a retainer for the Palace, I help keep things organized and clean and other tasks that must be done so other Palace workers can do their jobs smoothly as well.”

They stared at her as they followed, soaking in the new information. They waved their hand again, having her look back at them as they signed. “Isma. Ogrim.”

“They are Great Knights, something of a leader for the bigger group of Knights, picked by the King himself.”

“Not same?”

“Well, they are technically the same as Knights, just with more responsibilities because of their achievements and prowess.” They shook their head quickly and she blinked at them from behind her mask, tilting her head. “That’s not what you asked? What is it then?”

They repeated the words again—Knights, Isma, Ogrim—adding a little more emphasis to the “Not same” at the end of their sentence.

The retainer tilted her head, reaching out and drumming her claws on the handle of the door to the room the Vessel was using and opening it, holding it for them to walk in as she followed close, pondering the meaning. “You aren’t asking if they are the same as Knights, since I already answered that... by mere glance, you can say they are not the same, no, even if they do share a title. Ogrim is a dung beetle from a land past the wastes, according to some tales, since dung beetles are not very common in Hallownest—they are very easy to recognize, certainly carry a particular scent to them... Isma is from Greenpath and, while colonies of bugs live there as well, she is a native to those parts of the land—they aren’t quite true bugs, even if they do look and behave much like one.”

“Why called that?”

She continued into the room, placing the pale cloak on the bed and rummaging through a cabinet for a small towel, a jar of clean water already waiting on the table. “Take off that cloak, please. Called what, little Vessel?”

“Isma. Ogrim.” They signed once sure she was looking their way before starting the slight struggle with their cloak’s pin, slowly learning to unclasp it faster and faster.

She stared, tilting her head in clear confusion. “Those are their names. If they aren’t called by their title, or if they were in the same room but you need to catch the attention of only one of them, then you’d use their name.”

The Vessel picked up their newly discarded cloak, hanging it on the crook of their elbow as they continued. “Name?”

“Oh goodness.” The retainer whispered to herself, shaking her head and dipping the towel into the bowl of water before moving towards them, taking the cloak as they handed it to her and gently rubbing away at stray dirt that clung to their mask and horns. “A name is just what you call something or someone. Like the name of this is ‘bed’, and this is ‘towel’. Like I’m a ‘bug’ just like most everyone in the Palace. People can also have an own name, something they respond to—just like Ogrim and Isma—but not everyone does... the King doesn’t, for example. He is known by his title, Pale King, but it’s shortened to King or Majesty, possibly because he’s the only one with it and so another defining characteristic isn’t needed to know who you are referring to. There’s also the term Pale Wyrm used for him as well.” Once satisfied with how clean their mask was, she switched the side of the towel and handed it to them so they could clean off the dirt on their body as she turned and folded the green cloak neatly. “Of course, while those proper names do exist, not all cultures are the same way. There are some who, even when they have a name, do not share it with outsiders of their own culture or even those who aren’t part of family or friend group. Those who live in Deepnest, for example.”

They started putting on their pale cloak after setting down the towel on the table next to the small bowl, taking their time with the clasp and adjusting the cloak to remove wrinkles as they mulled over this new information. They looked back at her after they had fastened it to their liking and then asked. “Called ‘retainer’ but not name. You have a name?”

The retainer lifted a hand to her mask, where her mouth would be—a simple reaction to hiding a smile. “Yes, I do, little Vessel. My name is Chonne.”

They nodded, bouncing a little on their heels before pondering. “Do I have a name?”

That made her pause. “... you are known in the Palace as ‘the Vessel’, and since there’s only you... well, a name is given, usually by the caretakers. Sometimes, people choose their own name too.”

“Can choose my name?”

Chonne shifted a little on her feet, starting towards the door and opening it. “I think that’s a question for the King, little one. We should get going too, lest we make them wait more!” They quickly ran to join her side, jogging to keep up to her slightly quicker pace as she started talking about the names of different things they walked by on their way to the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ogrim and Isma are fun to write, I hope they came out good! Also this is gonna be a veeery slow going fic but we'll get there eventually.


	4. To Name the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say naming things gives them meaning and weight. But to know what to call them is power in itself, isn't it? Names and words, how interesting, so small and intangible and powerful all at once.

The dining hall was a spacious room with a large table at its center, already covered with dishes displaying different foods, a healthy variety of options going from grilled tiktik meat to salads with curious berries and mushrooms combinations. The Vessel was still new to these options, the quantity made it all the more difficult for them to choose between them—a particular lack of pangs of hunger and lackluster tasting ability made them not quite as interested in trying everything either.

They were plenty capable of eating and enjoying it, however, though coordinating the little mandibles at the bottom of their mask to open their mouth was still a work in progress, as was holding the utensils correctly—their food was cut into far smaller pieces for them both to avoid messes and due to their inability to wield a fork and knife at the same time.

Chonne had been quick to guide them to their seat and help push the chair closer to the table, giving a small bow to the Great Knights—already on their own seats at the other side, to the left of the table’s head where an empty chair remained, waiting for the King.

The Vessel only had enough time to wave their hand in greeting, prompting a chuckle and a boisterous reply from Ogrim and a gentler one from Isma before they half turned to continue their conversation. The Vessel didn’t mind much the lack of attention and instead focused their own in practicing their grip on the fork that waited in front of them on the table.

It wasn’t too long before the door was opened again by a retainer who bowed as the King passed the threshold and approached the table. “Afternoon, my Knights, Vessel.”

Ogrim and Isma sat a little straighter and the Vessel set the fork back on the napkin, all of them turning and bowing their heads slightly in the King’s direction as he took his seat at the head of the table, a tired sigh leaving him. “Good afternoon, your Majesty! Thank you for your invitation to join you.”

“It has been a time, you both were present. It seemed only natural.”

“Of course, my King... are you feeling well?”

“I am well.” He said, rubbing the area between his eyes somewhat harshly, eyes shut tight as if battling a headache. “Let us eat.”

The Knights exchanged a look, a brief conversation with naught but eyes and subtle facial gestures now that neither had headgear on, before Isma spoke up, eyes squinted in delight and gratitude as a retainer moved closer and filled their glasses. “It all looks delicious! Do send my regards to the kitchen, and a thank you!”

“And a slight inquiry about the possible desserts?”

A little clank sounded as she flicked her hand playfully against Ogrim’s shoulder, only prompting his grin to grow further. “We haven’t even started the main course!”

“It’s never wrong to mentally prepare oneself! I’m sure the Vessel would like to know what there’ll be at the end as well.” He said with a chuckle, gesturing in the direction of the Vessel. Everyone turned their attention towards them.

They stilled, fork awkward in their grip and a piece of meat stabbed through it, angled towards the bottom of their mask. Should they have been able to start visibly sweating, they would have. Was a shrug enough of an answer? Would trying to hold the fork with their mouth be rude? Could they coordinate that enough not to somehow drop it and make it clatter and somehow get food to fly off their plate and—

They shoved the food in their mouth, tried to focus on not choking, and failed. The King sighed deeply and gently patted their back while Ogrim bellowed a cackle and Isma chastised him for it all, though her tone held too much of a giggle to hold any weight.

“The Vessel is still learning coordination, please refrain from distracting them while they are eating.” The King finally said they stopped sipping from a cup to calm their silent cough, giving a nod that they were okay.

“My apologies, my King, little Vessel.” Ogrim said after taking a deep breath, his expression sheepish. “Though I guess you’re as excited as me for dessert if you’re scarfing down your meal that quick!”

They gave a little handwave and the King shook his head, a sigh of exhaustion tinged with amusement all he could give before he prompted those at the table to start on the meal.

* * *

The talk at the table had gone over the Vessel’s head as they focused on hand coordination and trying to get the small slippery bits of food on the pointy end of their utensils, having to take a couple moments to rest as soreness settled on their limbs, a reminder of the time they spent training earlier.

While it had started with everyone focused on eating, the King had inquired about how said training had gone—and the Knights were eager to answer, their words dotted with praise for the child, thoughts on what could be done next session, the ideas on how to incorporate mild protection to their wardrobe...

It all faded out of their focus as they feasted on a beetle jelly cup brought after the main course was retired from the table, awed at the fact they were given a second helping after Ogrim asked for one himself. Maybe desserts were something they should try to leave a little more space for.

It wasn’t too long before the Knights excused themselves from the table, mentioning duties to take care of and people they needed to talk to. The King stood as well, motioning for the Vessel to follow him out of the room as a small group of retainers entered to start cleaning after them.

The halls were open and quiet, though the chatter of others bugs carried easier at this hour. The King hadn’t said anything to them—where they going somewhere in particular? Did he forget they were following, with his thoughts focused on something else entirely? Questions swirled in their head—one jumped to the forefront, clinging stubbornly.

The Vessel waved their hand lightly, calling for the King’s attention. It took a couple moments and them jogging a little closer to his side before he stopped and turned to face them fully, the quiet skittering of the multiple legs against the white stone of the floor echoing the soft clicking of the Vessel’s claws against each other as they prepared their thoughts.

The King made a small motion with his head, prompting them to start signing. The fact their hand didn’t shake or gave any hint of the anxiety currently bubbling inside them was a surprise to them, just as much as the question was for the King. “Question. Do I have name?”

He blinked, the only tell of his current state that was visible. While thoughts started churning, neither his glow nor wings gave any hint of unease or surprise. “You are the Vessel. You have been responding to it, it is your name.”

They tapped their claws gently against their mask in a quick rhythm—the most subtle way they could shake off the strange anxiety inside them—before continuing. “Title. Vessel. King. Title.”

“Yes, it serves as a title as well.”

“Can I have name?” They asked, continuing without waiting for the King’s reply just yet. “Ogrim. Isma. Chonne. Names.”

The King stared at them plainly, dark eyes unreadable and stance so still they had trouble telling if he was breathing at all. They let their hand drop to their side and hide under their cloak, clenching it tight and shifting to keep it from shaking visibly.

“... you want for a more unique designation then.” It didn’t sound like a question, it might not have been one, but the Vessel nodded nonetheless. The King’s stare remained, undisturbed.

The Vessel dared reveal their hand again and sign, slowly and steadily, even though the strange nervousness in their chest made their legs quiver a little. “Hollow. Like sound. Can it be name?”

Silence. Silence stretching for what felt like hours.

The King finally uttered under his breath, a flick of his tail shifting his robes. “If I were to forbid it, you would be capable of finding a loophole.” Truly, he knew this Vessel to be much too bright to remain stuck with that order.

(The Vessel heard, despite how quiet the King's words had been, meant only for himself, and wondered even when the words made the chill in their void somehow uncomfortably cold. Did he not know that that same bright Vessel would follow his word to the letter?)

“A quaint name. Not quite meaningful by itself, and with it not the greatest connotations.” He hummed, focusing his gaze on their own, their thoughts and what could be the beginnings of disappointment unknown to him. “Have you thought of it, or is this spur of the moment.”

The Vessel remained still as a statue, not willing to break the intense eye contact, before their shoulders moved slightly like they were taking a deep breath and then signing with as much certainty as they were capable of: “Want it. Name. Hollow.”

The King straightened, lifting his head in such a way his crown of horns caught the light. “Then use it at your leisure, Hollow.”

Hollow stood in place, stone under the black eyes of the King of Hallownest who had not only listened to their request, but granted it. Before he knew it, the child stumbled a startled couple of steps and grasped the hem of his pristine, white cloak, bowing their head again and again with energetic gratitude—and just barely keeping from clipping him with their horns.

Silence stuck itself in his throat, mind blanking, and then he ever gently lifted a hand and removed the child’s grip, speaking up. “It might, however, take time for others to grow used to this change. You must be patient but firm.” They nodded one last time, retreating their hand and letting their cloak lay comfortingly around their shoulders, the tension having drained from them.

Both of them looked down the hall as the sound of rhythmic clanging moved closer. One of the white armored creatures Hollow had seen approached, its movements mechanical and certain. The King stood a little straighter and turned to face it. It stopped a short distance away from them and extended out a silk parchment, tied with a simple blue ribbon. The sight made them curious, but they could hear the tired sigh from the King before he took it from the armor’s hand. “Thank you. Return to your post.”

The Kingsmould gave a swift salute and turned on its heel, marching down the hall it had come from. Hollow focused back on the King as he passed the parchment to another hand, watching it disappear into his sleeve.

“It seems I won’t be able to impart a lesson to you today, Hollow.” He said, pausing for a second as he worked through the words. “Important matters to attend to. You are free until called again, return to your room or its surroundings.”

They nodded and departed down the now familiar halls.

* * *

Exhaustion from earlier activities and a full belly teamed up with the comfort of soft bedding. It took seconds from the moment their head touched the pillow and their instinctively curl-up to their consciousness fading.

In the past couple days, they had been coaxed to sleep as much as they could—not a difficult task, with the extent of their injuries and the fatigue that loomed over them after they used so much energy in such a short period of time; barely out of the place they had hatched from and traveling more than anyone bargained for. Their curiosity shone bright, as was their desire to grasp and absorb as much knowledge as they were presented, but they could only hold onto wakefulness for pockets of time before their own body made its exhaustion known and they couldn’t stop the dipping of their head, the slowing of their reactions, or the way their vision blurred and they tried vainly to rub it away only to be caught by whoever was with them at the time and told to sleep.

(They hadn’t wanted to at first. It was quickly discovered that swaddling them was a great method to get them to pass out.)

Rest wasn’t a stranger. What no one had told them was that sometimes it didn’t feel like they were asleep.

Their vision wasn’t simple black until they focused again to their room in the palace like any other time. There were colors—mostly the green of the gardens and white-gray of stone—and they were walking with an easy pace down the halls that opened to them, the gray flowerpot a familiar weight on their hand and the warmth and vibrance of a booming laugh on the other side of the wall.

Hollow thought they recognized it and glanced at the opening on the wall, beautiful vines grasping the edges like they had opened it themselves, the hanging leaves and small flowers almost a curtain that stopped halfway down. A couple figures stood on the courtyard—or rather, _flew_. 

The source of the laughter was just as he expected, the round armor unmistakable with claws that swung with strength that made the ground shudder, excitement bright in the dung beetle’s movements as Isma so easily leaped into the air with a flip that almost felt like a flutter of a falling leaf in the wind, a nail in her hand and a twirl in her step once she finally landed. Their voices were fuzzy, but Hollow could understand the gist of what they were saying.

A fun spar, meant to showcase their strengths and techniques. The Great Knights had shown them those moves earlier. The way Ogrim so easily dove and dug with a swift motion that didn’t feel any more real this time, or the stance Isma took, her voice a gentle hum that reminded them to glance at the position of her feet and the way she shifted her weight. She leaped into the air again, graceful and easy and much too weightless just as Ogrim burst from the earth with a spin that was all claws and power.

They blinked and then noticed they were moving, walking down a hallway, curtain of vines brushing their horns, hanging from the too-tall halls, they rose their hand and reached to touch them. They felt like their softest blankets and the petals of the most colorful flowerbed that stood on the courtyard. There was the distant sound of voices—retainers, hard at work and easily in reach; the shadows, murmurs that came from the void and the afterimages of those that had passed through this same hall earlier. Hadn’t they been holding something...?

The vines dripped down further, the not-colors of the palace darkened like areas without lumaflies, especially at those times after the sound of a bell that indicated something. Sometimes it was the start of a day, others it was the end of it. They couldn’t recall hearing the ringing that foretold the strengthening of the shadows in the halls. They heard a bell.

It rung different, high and echoing in the darkness of the tunnel they stood at, a distant clanking of something metallic ushering like an elevator, not moving as smoothly as the few they had seen in the palace. They tightened their fingers around the little metal stick, golden like the bell whose echoing song slowly came to an end. Darkness curled around them.

They looked down at the stick. It caught the dim scarlet light coming from nowhere. They let go of it, it sunk into the black floor with a ripple of white and red. Their reflection caught their eyes, the pure white tinted pink as red swirls faded in and out of the corner of their vision.

Strange. Curious. An unease settled in their chest.

They started walking, their fingers grasping the edge of their dull-green cloak, tinted gray in the red-tones light. They felt something in the air, in the ground.

They stopped. A blurred silhouette stood before them. They looked up. It wasn’t facing them. They couldn’t see the features.

They couldn’t recall seeing the Great Knight’s eyes earlier.

A tendril shot from below, crackling with red like glitter and flames.

Hollow shot out from their nest of pillows and fell on the floor with a painful clatter as their horns hit the edge of the table by their bed. They squeaked into the darkness as they wrestled against the blanket tangled around them (the tendril coming to burn through them), a noise for help—it translated as a barely audible whistle in the emptiness of their room.

Their cry went unanswered. Their body hurt from where they hit the floor, their chest heaved with effort and panic. The sound of ripping shrilled through the air of the room as their claws dug into the ensnaring cloth.

They pressed their back against the night table once they were finally free, their whole body shaking and the cold pressure in their chest only making their eyes burn with ice. They sat with their knees to their chest, fist curled tight against them and head bowed as the ache from the hit pounded heavier. Hollow didn’t know how long had passed before the door clicked and they started, drawing their limbs closer as their eyes snapped towards it as it opened slowly as if to not make a sound.

Chonne gasped when she saw the blanket in tatters on the floor, pillows in unusual disarray, and was immediately on her knees by Hollow’s side as she set eyes on their still shaking form, hands hovering but not reaching to touch them. “Little Vessel! What happened, are you okay?”

They whimpered again—a small, quiet chirp that rung with such distress and hiccupped with the tightness in their chest that the retainer set a hand on their head, caressing while whispering and cooing little sounds to try and calm them. Her hand was warm against the deeper chill of their mask—void had pooled enough to tint the white with gray, but managed to not spill even as they continued shivering. Hollow calmed under the careful touch and soft chittering, sagging a little and she took the opportunity to give a quick glance over.

“It doesn’t look like you were attacked, thankfully.” She sighed with relief and slowly stood up, glancing at the pieces of fabric on the floor. She offered a hand to help Hollow stand, gently supporting them as they got back up on their feet unsteadily and lifting them to sit on the edge of the bed, watching as they brought their knees back against their body. “Did you fall off? Yes or no.”

It took some effort for them to uncurl their arm. “Yes.”

“Was it because you got tangled in the sheets?”

The movement of their hand was too vague to be either affirmation or denial, the motion shifting and cutting abruptly as if they weren’t sure about either answer. Chonne frowned slightly under her mask.

“Little Vessel, no one will be angry if that’s what happened.” She soothed only for Hollow to shake their head, hand knocking and then sliding against their mask and then plopping heavy by their side, their gaze downcast. She hummed gently and shifted on her feet. Her duty was to clean the mess and aid if asked; she couldn’t leave them like this, and even if it wasn’t her job, she wouldn’t want to. She briskly walked towards the table with the jar of water, filling a small porcelain cup. “Okay, we will figure this out, alright? Here, drink a little.”

They took the offered cup shakily but didn’t drop it, taking small sips and hearing their mandibles click faintly against the edge as they did so. She kneeled before them and idly picked up the fabric on the floor. Once drained, they shifted until the night table was in reach and set the cup down carefully, taking to run their claws against the soft pillows instead.

By that time, Chonne had the pieces on her lap and was folding the undamaged part of the blanket, looking up at them as she asked: “Feeling any better?” They nodded. “I’m glad. Want to tell me what happened?”

How to explain it? Hollow couldn’t even remember it clearly—only... “Scared. Ripped the blanket. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, little Vessel.” She hummed as she turned the new information in her head, resting her hands on the now folded blanket. “You ripped it up because you got scared?”

“Yes.”

“But what scared you? Did something happen in the room?”

Hollow paused, mulling it over before shaking their head, releasing their fist from the pillow with a soft pop and tapping at their mask before pointing at their temple. She blinked and tilted her head, they tapped more insistently at that point.

“In... your head?”

They nodded, pausing for a moment before pawing at the pillows, rearranging them to how they usually left them to rest and miming the motions of curling up, only to sit up and stare at her intently. She made a noise of confusion and they repeated the motions, now pointing at the pillow they had rested their head on.

Chonne suddenly ‘ohh’ed, perking up slightly. “You went to sleep!” They nodded quickly and she copied the motion for a second. “I see, I see. You got scared because of something that you saw inside your dreams!”

Hollow stared at her and slowly raised their hand, drawing the sign of question next to their head.

She paused, unsure of what it meant. Did she get it wrong? Or, rather... “Dreams. We haven’t mentioned dreams to you yet, have we? Oh, I can’t believe we keep missing these things—I mean, some of these words are quite abstract and, oh, times flies by much too quick.” She lamented gently to herself, standing up with the bundle in her arms, her eyes not meeting Hollow’s. “Dreams are like—when you are asleep, there is a chance that you can see things like... like a picture book but moving, or just... something that happened in your life, but a little different than it really happened.”

They nodded, digging their claws slightly into a pillow as they thought. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, shifting her stance slightly.

“Dreams are usually good. A little strange, sometimes just making no sense at all. Were you startled by just having a dream or...” She paused, tilting her head to look at them directly. “Or did something actually bad and scary happen?”

Hollow tried to think about it. They shuddered as they thought of a bright pulse of red. They nodded, drawing the pillow to their lap.

Chonne nodded slowly, her shoulders drooping a little. “Sometimes, dreams aren’t all good. They can be scary and remind us of bad things, things that make us nervous or that hurt us. Those are called nightmares.” She saw them perk up a little, wary but curious; she rose a hand to her mask. “I think I mentioned that word before—I don’t. I don’t think it’s my place to explain more of the other connotations of that word. But maybe someone else can. Do you want me to tell the King? His duties with the public are to be done soon.”

They deflated a little, clenching their hand on the pillow but gave a stiff nod. They had no clue how they’d tell the King what happened, she had only been able to understand after piecing together the scene with all the clues of the moment.

She offered them a hand, her voice a gentle, upbeat chirp. “Why don’t you go to the garden for a minute? A change of air can help after a bad dream. I can drop you off there.”

They nodded and took her hand, pillow forgotten on the bed and moments later their claws fiddling with the recently-put clasp as the duo left the room with a click of the door.

The lumaflies of the hall were still bright, Hollow glanced at each of them as they walked by, the soft humming of a small tune by Chonne kept the silence at bay. By the time they reached the garden, Hollow felt the last of their dread a distant thought, their attention lost to the leaves that sprawled from a hanging planter and Chonne bid them farewell as she continued on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found out that HK's anniversary is on the 24th so I thought to celebrate it posting this! Also rejoice, I can finally call Hollow by name instead of calling them 'the Vessel' all the time.  
> A very sincere thank you for the kudos, comments, and just if you are reading this. I can't explain how much it means to me ;^;


	5. And Yet, Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information given freely, but details not yet touched, and opinions to form and decisions to make.  
> Hollow waits to learn more about the nightmare they woke from, and yet they aren't the only one still learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is exposition-heavy chapter methinks so here we go.. also a thank you to Monika and BB8 for doing some arts inspired by this fic ;A; I appreciate them so much and I will now Die For You Two.   
> Stay safe, everyone, and hope you enjoy this chapter!

The gardens were a calming place to be. Peaceful and always full of small things that changed and grew in such a way that they weren’t glaringly bothersome. From the dancing specks of Soul and Void to the flora that was contained within the gardens and yet still often reached into any room it was allowed to. Hollow knew there were people who looked after the plants, had seen one of them at work, snipping at the leaves and branches when they grew too much so they would remain orderly and pleasant.

It had been soothing to watch, just how a hedge could be trimmed to make it seem like something else, a figure or the wall of a maze, but they still liked the flowerbeds and hanging planters better. They had come to love the gentle touch of leaves and flowers, allowed to just be, though still cared for and helped along. They thought they had seen the buds of flowers on a hedge too, but much too high for them to truly tell. They reminded them of something too, that they had known but couldn’t put their finger on it.

In this nigh-darkness when the lumaflies in the lanterns were starting to dim in their exhaustion, the colors were a little harder to tell, just shy of becoming a grayscale. They watched as the flowers they were sitting next to seemed to grow more vivid and rose their head attentively towards the approaching glow at the arc of the doorway.

The King appeared and motioned for them to follow him with a nod. Hollow rose from the bench and half-jogged to catch up with him, their head slightly lowered though angled in such a way he could feel their empty gaze on him.

For him to have stopped at the garden, Chonne must have told him where to find them like she had promised. Hollow’s anxiety bubbled up again in their chest, remembering the torn blanket on her arms, the reason they were sitting amongst the plants in the first place. The King had yet to utter a word to them as he led them through halls, the distant sounds of people growing muted as they did so.

Hollow tapped their claws together under their cloak in a steady rhythm to hide their nerves, glancing down the halls they were being led down. The Pale King had never taken them in this direction, and neither had any other bug in the palace; their fear mingled with curiosity.

One of the few elevators of the palace stood before them in a small platform, raising with a slight slope and smoothing in the middle, coming to life with the glow of white runes as they stood at its center and the King waved his hand. It rose up and up, and stopped to a dark hall with only a soft rush of air.

A pair of white armors stood at attention on the mouth of the passage. The King moved forward and Hollow stood in place, listening to the murmurs of the shadows here—louder and clear in everything but meaning. Their confusion left them in a silent hum and one of the armors shifted to stare down at them with white-burning eyes.

**Follow.**

Startled, they took a step back from the Kingsmould. It continued staring, unwavering, and then moved the scythe in the direction of the hall—the King’s glow a great distance ahead, and Hollow sprinted to catch up with him. They noticed how he seemed to tense up at the sound, a small quiver of his wings, but didn’t stop to look at them once they finally slowed at his side, following close behind.

The dark hall opened into a large room, its space dominated by large tables and shelves with tablets and miscellaneous materials. Spherical constructs of smooth metal hung from the ceiling and cluttered the surfaces of some of the tables, opaque jars and vases ruled some of the shelves while others held numbers of heavy tomes. Scattered against the walls were armors similar to the ones guarding the hall, though empty and lifeless. A couple chairs waited by the tables and the Pale King made a direct line towards one.

Hollow’s pace slowed, taking a moment to scan their surroundings, curiosity and confusion bubbling inside them. By the time they had reached his side, the King had taken a seat, his dark eyes heavy with thoughts and the claws of a hand rapping against the table in a beat. They stood still and a couple seconds passed before the King focused on them, staring silently as they returned the gaze.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice easily carrying in the room—Hollow could hear the murmur of shadows quieting, allowing them focus on the sound. “You, child, seem to go faster than you’re prepared for.”

They had no reply to that. The King waved his hand, signaling them towards a chair close by; once they had sat down, he leaned back against his chair, staring at them like a particularly interesting and difficult puzzle.

“No fault of their own.” He muttered to himself, Hollow could hear him clearly. “But they must be ready before they set off.” With a hum, the King brought a hand to rub at his eyes, taking a moment before straightening again, speaking with the intent to be heard. “A nightmare, I was informed of.”

Hollow clenched their fist against their leg under their cloak and nodded.

“For you to be sat before me, to have emerged from the Abyss, you must have a notion of what it means.”

Meaning? To them it had been a dream turned painful and scary. Was it meant to mean something, to mean more than that? Hollow shook their head, stopping him before he could continue. The King froze, the words he had prepared dying on his tongue.

“You... don’t?” Again, they shook their head. “You don’t know about the Nightmares.” They signed a negative, doing everything in their power not to kick their legs to disperse a nervousness slowly coiling in their stomach. “Oh.” The King stood up, locking his arms behind his back and pacing with the steady rhythm of skittering claws in a leisure circuit in front of the table, his head dipped low. Hollow tilted their head and stared, their unease mixed with muddled interest. “Oh, Root’s Tendrils.”

They gave a confused chirrup, watching as the King stopped pacing and glanced their way—almost as if he had heard them—and soon his dark eyes turned downcast, steely as he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “They can’t be the first one... how did that go unnoticed... how many have gone without...” Even in the quiet, the murmurs became unintelligible for the Vessel to understand, trailing off and mingling under the echoes of the shadows.

They could only watch in rapt curiosity and concern as the King rubbed his face with both hands, an alien exhaustion and unease oozing from him with the soft pulse of his light. They waited, bowing their head slightly and straining to make sense of the soft mumbles in the air; the words of the shadows were gibberish, but something they felt familiar. Volatile, vibrating softly in their core with a feeling of protectiveness, less an embrace and more of the angled sharpness to withstand a hit, to retaliate. Hovered over their horns and around the room, a humming presence curling to protect—to keep safe.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the King’s voice, clear note cutting the soft rumble.

“How much do you know, Hollow.”

Hearing their name—name chosen, name allowed—pulled a small chirp of attention from their chest (a click, to the King’s hearing), before they rose their hand into view and started signing, aiding themself with gestures where their current vocabulary failed them. “I have to do something. Find someone, help them.” Found them, actually. They refused. Their chest tightened at that. Why wouldn’t their sibling let them help...? “Promise.”

“A promise...” The King echoed, stepping closer to them, his wings twitching subtly against his cloak. His voice rung in the silence. “A promise you made or a promise made for you?”

Hollow paused, bowing their head. The Abyss was a place that made time and thoughts fade, clearing them away so those consumed may find their rest. Their own memories—of the void, mostly, and rarely a vague glimpse of a time not theirs—were hazy, background silhouettes and not-words and nothing; what they might have been once wasn’t truly who they were now. Still, they were sure of it: “Mine.”

The King looked at them intently. They could feel the weight of the presence, heavy before them and concentrated, like raw power in a too-small container. Their hand grasped the hem of their cloak tightly, and they waited for the scrutiny to pass, struggling not to fidget under the gaze as it studied them. For what? To see if it was the truth? They had no reason to lie.

The King seemed to come to that conclusion as well, letting his glow dim slightly before turning away and taking one of the metal carcasses off the table, turning it between his visible hands. “Do you recall our conversation from earlier. When you asked for a name rather than just your title.”

Hollow nodded, allowing their shoulders relax now that he wasn’t focusing solely on them.

Whether the King saw their affirmation or not, he hummed and continued speaking: “You are called a Vessel. The Vessel, in fact, for there is only you in the Palace. It is meant in a most literal sense.” His two other hands unfurled and emerged to cradle pieces of the spherical contraption, holding three pieces separated and gesturing carefully with the last, a wispy Soul-white ball floating before him. “You are of Void, and yet formed of Wyrm and Root as well.” He brought them together to form the full sphere as he explained, encasing the ball. “There are, however, traces of Nightmare’s Flame within you. To attune you with others of its kind in a manner few beings are capable of. You, and those before you, were hatched to hold these flames, to be their temporary vessel.” He paused, resting his hands on the smooth surface as Hollow absorbed the new information. “... it was agreed it would be choice, not duty enforced by Light of any kind. For you to be sat before me, at least part of you accepted this.”

Hollow brought their hand to their lap and started fiddling with the hem of their cloak, deep in thought. Minutes passed in silence, the King taking this time to place back the pieces on another table, idly moving instruments and other materials as he waited for the Vessel to react in some way. His attention was called for by three clinks in a row and he turned to face Hollow, now stood by the table with a thin metal instrument, held hovering by the metal pieces of another Wingmould; they set it back on the table, freeing their hand. 

“I remember important other, remember wanting to see places, learn things. Remember told I could if I do something for someone too.”

“But you don’t truly recall what that something is.” The King guessed, letting out a slow exhalation at the headshake they gave. “Root give me strength...” He breathed softly, allowing his claws slide on the smooth metal. “Seeing what you have done already—going all the way to that accursed place with nothing to protect yourself... I suspect your drive is aligned with the needs of this kingdom. I loathe to have to ask this, sincerely, but I must request your aid to do what needs to be done. Only you are capable of continuing the cycle.”

Hollow lowered their head slightly, their hand disappearing fully under their cloak, and without giving any hint on what was running through their mind. The King took the moment to approaching slowly, his hands clasped together in front of him, covered by his sleeves.

“That’s what your training is for.” He added as he stopped in front of them, head bowed to look them in the eye. “To aid in preparing you for this undertaking. Try as we might, the kingdom still has dangers in the wild and in its communities; the neighboring groups—domains, realms, tribes, whichever name they chose to use—aren’t always welcoming, or may actually test your strength in their own rituals to see if you are worthy of being in their presence.”

The shadows rumbled something soft and insistent in their head, a hiss that felt like a rattle in their chest. Hollow looked up to see the Pale King frowning at the darkness in the corners. “Why else need for training.”

He paused at the words, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. “Oh, there truly is something here then, and you can understand it? Very curious.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought when he saw Hollow sign again, insistent. “It’s as I said: danger. In the wild, there are creatures—not sentient enough to be called citizens, living forms that hunt and are hunted for sustenance. To them, anything smaller than a particular size is feasible nourishment, and to drive them away is key to survive.”

The shadows hissed low. **More.**

Hollow’s stare remained unbreakable on the King, expectant.

The King closed his eyes and looked away, waving his hand in the air and summoning a wisp of Soul in front of both of them. Hollow’s gaze settled on the white ball—and then they startled as the King waved his hand again, multiple wisps appearing in different parts of the room, casting fuzzy lights on objects at random. “The same reason you are attuned to the Nightmare’s Flames.” He said, calling the Vessel’s attention back to himself as he cradled the light between his hands. “There are others, uncontained and without guidance.” He explained, sweeping his hand slowly towards the rest of the room. “They shouldn’t be able to cause trouble... but the line between the realms blurs if there is too much concentration of it, and there are few things most mortals could do to stop a true Nightmare Creature if it materializes in this one.”

He flicked his wrist and the small wisp between them bobbed and swooped towards another, making it twirl like dancing candlelight and then zooming off to the next, the previous spot descending to the soft shadows. “The capacity to absorb these spots is exceedingly rare, only those born with it or outright scouted by the holder are able to do so. Doing so effectively holds the flames’ energy and then it can be delivered to its rightful recipient.”

“Who?” Hollow asked, turning from their intent staring at the wisp’s movement to look at the King, making a small chirp to call his attention back to them.

“The Nightmare Heart. A Higher Being who’s domain is the Nightmare Realm, aptly named. These flames are useless but dangerous to most anyone else, and they must be brought to the Heart... which is also another great problem.” The King sighed, raising a hand and rubbing the space between his eyes harshly, hand slowly sliding down his face and resting on the bottom of his face. “The duty, and the direct connection with the Heart, passes down from Vessel to Vessel.”

Hollow perked up at that and then promptly winced, tracing the stump where their arm should be.

“I can feel it. I can tell which Vessel is currently hosting the Heart and their state.” He spoke slowly, voice growing tired and quiet, vaguely muffled by his hand. “That one always did seem to escape my sight in the strangest manners. Like a shadow at the corner of the eye, or a specter disappearing in the haze...”

A ghost... Yes. That would be a fitting way to call their sibling.

The King shook his head, snapping his fingers again and extinguishing the remaining wisps around the room, casting them back into the gentle dimness from before. “It is not my goal to overwhelm you with information either. Perhaps it would be better to put this topic aside for a time. But you are to stay here a while longer, take a seat.”

Hollow chirruped quietly, feeling the shadows in the room murmur as they returned to their places, their presence a blanket they found familiar. They did as ask, approaching the chair they had first used and climbing back on it with a little hop, hearing the skittering of multiple claws as the King took the other chair available nearby. “Why stay here?”

“For yours and others’ safety.” He replied, a flick of his tail letting his cloak fall gracefully around himself as he sat down. Hollow tilted their head, signaling their confusion. The King hummed lightly, busying himself with fidgeting with a quill. “You were in close proximity to the place the Heart is currently located. A Nightmare Creature could have taken notice and been attracted to your embers, it could have had decided to trail you. We are at a section of the palace that would make it easier to identify its presence; it is highly unlikely it would appear here, regardless.”

Again, Hollow had to tap insistently to catch his attention. “Why?”

He pulled an inkwell and a couple pages of parchment closer as he replied. “My presence. The concentration of my Soul magic in this structure makes the creatures nigh incapable of entering without my notice for long, and should they do so I am capable of banishing them.” He paused, turning his attention fully on them. “A nightmare can be caused by their presence, but it isn’t a requirement. If what you had was merely a work of your own mind then there is little to do. They are not my domain; I am unable to keep them from happening.”

He watched as Hollow seemed to deflate a little on the chair before they shifted to what could probably be a more comfortable position—it was difficult to tell, with the low light of the place and their limbs seemingly disappearing under the folds of their cloak, though he was fairly certain they were now hunching slightly instead of sitting straight.

A little black hand emerged from the silvery cloak, waving in loose gestures. “What is this place?”

“My workshop. I come here to tinker, create, and think.” He spoke with an airy tone, tapping the point of the quill into the inkwell and then against the parchments, the soft scratching now purring through the air. “Counted know of this area and fewer are allowed here, a good place to go if one wishes not to be disturbed.”

After that, Hollow gave a small nod and shifted again on their seat, leaning against the table lightly and appearing to focus on the things on it, reaching to touch a nearby Wingmoulds’ piece as the King returned his focus to the letter waiting to be written.

Only the soft, steady scratching of the quill broke the silence in the room, though the King still glanced at the Vessel every once in a while to make sure they weren’t doing something they shouldn’t. He watched, periodically, as they seemed to slump against the table next to their chair in small increments, until their mask rested at an angle with their hand cushioning it lightly, legs curled under them in what appeared to be a comfortable position that they found suitable for resting.

He blinked before letting out a slow sigh, turning to finish adding a couple words to the letter before closing the inkwell and leaving the quill to the side, standing up with a whisper of movement and picking the child up to cradle on his arms. He left the room with them curling against his chest.

* * *

Hollow awoke alone in the room he had become most familiar with, curling tighter under the blankets before sitting up and stretching their limbs from the pillow nest usually formed on their bed. They rubbed their eye, half-heartedly trying to grasp at the fluffy white remnants of some hazy image in their dreams.

Their thoughts caught up to them and they straightened, glancing around the room for any sign of the King and finding nothing. They slumped a little, tapping their knuckles against their mask gently as they pondered.

It hadn’t been a dream, right...? They hadn’t dreamed everything that happened the night prior. They couldn’t have, surely.

Scooting over to the edge, they hopped off on unsteady legs and shook themself, walking towards the little jar on the table to the side and noticing their cup wasn’t besides it. They looked around and saw it on the night table instead. They hummed softly to themself as they made their way back for it and went along their short morning routine.

It wasn’t too long before they peeked out of their room and glanced around the halls, stepping out and closing the door behind them with a click. They started walking towards the kitchen and dining hall, hearing the common sounds of retainers and other workers with their duties.

A retainer—short and stout, with little antennae poking from under the cloth on their head—saw them approach and bowed. “Good morning, young Vessel.”

They returned the bow, apparently to the retainer’s surprise as they started slightly. Their hand emerged from the fresh and less rumpled cloak they wore, gesturing with clear—if somewhat jerky—movements. “Early?”

The retainer stared, standing almost uncomfortably stiff before shaking themself off. “It’s—it’s not particularly early. The plates set for breakfast have been put away, young Vessel. However, if you’d like, surely there’s something in the kitchens still.”

Hollow nodded and quickly signed their gratitude, continuing onward with a small sprint and leaving behind the other bug. The halls they traversed weren’t particularly busy, and when they reached the doors to the kitchen, they knocked before opening them enough to glance inside.

A couple other beetles were busying themselves with clean up and putting things away, chattering amicably, until one of them finally saw the little Vessel at the door and gave a little squeak of surprise. The others soon notice the newcomer as well and a hush fell on the group before one of the older ones of the group walked closer to them, brushing his hands against his apron.

“Good morning, young Vessel! Fancy seeing you here. Not going to wait to have someone deliver breakfast to you, then?” Hollow shook their head, staring up at him. The kitchen worker nodded, tapping a finger to his chin. “A’ight, it wasn’t gonna be long anyway, wait right there for a moment.” He turned towards his team and clapped his hands, shouting an order and everyone started moving again.

Before long, a small plate with a healthy amount and variety of foods—eggs, fruits, bread—was presented to them and they eagerly held their hand out to take the plate. “Here you go. Sit at the table and someone will bring you your drink, please.” Hollow nodded again, bouncing slightly on their feet, and quickly realizing they couldn’t sign their thanks. Instead they bowed for a second and turned on their heels to approach the too big table.

Plate on it, chair moved back, climbing on. They took advantage of the lack of witnesses and expectations with these particular food items and ate without worrying for the utensils, though always making sure to keep the napkin within reach. They were mixing their second egg with their bread when the kitchen’s door opened and one of the helpers walked out with a glass, leaving it next to their plate and quickly moving to leave—until she saw the wave of their hand calling for her attention.

“Thank you.” They signed, followed by a couple motions—‘all’ and pointing at the direction of the kitchen. She mumbled a ‘you’re welcome’ after a couple seconds and went back the way she came just as Hollow focused back on their food.

* * *

“I am telling you, they are not that bad.” The helper heard as she entered the kitchen again, door closing behind her.

“But they creep me out...” Whined another, shuddering in emphasis. “With those eyes, brrr...”

The head chef rubbed his claws against his chin, leaning against the counter as he watched his team discussing. “Going merely with just looks isn’t the best choice, Huey. Experience should tell you that—we are not going to serve only folks we’re used to appearance wise. You’ll learn soon enough.” He waved his hand in the air, crossing his arms shortly after. “Perhaps it is how quiet they are what is nagging at ya?” The beetle in question merely shrugged, mumbling noncommittally; the chef huffed at him. “You best be fixing that attitude, Huey. I won’t have your bad vibes spoiling my food.” He turned to look at the returning bug, tilting his head at her. “Less scary up-close, Dai?”

She chittered lightly, clasping her hands nervously under the gazes of her fellow workers. “They are... they are very polite. Said thank you and then pointed at the kitchen—I’m not sure if they meant to thank everyone in the kitchen or if they just wanted me out of there.”

The other bugs mutters were drowned under a deep laugh from the head chef. “The first one, lass, definitely. You gotta give the little fella some credit.” He chuckled as she sputtered a little, her blush barely visible over the edge of the clothe she was covering her mouth with. “From what I’ve heard, they are quite the respectful and curious critter.”

“From that one retainer? The one who tries to get as many shifts regarding the Vessel as possible?” One of the workers asked, drying and putting away some dishes as the others returned to their duties, all half-listening.

“That same one.” He replied with a half-shrug. “Plus, I know not to judge a tome by its cover.” His tone was half-mocking and half-accusatory, earning either chuckles or grumbles from the others. “They’re just a kid, no matter how they might look, and you guys should keep that clear in your noggins. If any of ya treats a kid badly in my vicinity, I’ll make ya into stew!”

The workers laughed and hummed, all giving a ‘yes, chef’ in different tones. He nodded firmly and glanced out the little window on the door, keeping an eye on the Vessel as they tried to figure how to bite into a fruit without getting juice everywhere.


	6. A Moment to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is important to rest and prepare for all that is to come. It's not wrong to let oneself have simple joys along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little slow after the infodump of last one, but we needed a little bit of space before things started again; I might post the next chapter sooner cause this got long and I had to divide it to pace it better. Hope you guys like it and I really appreciate comments ;v; a big thank you to BB8 (Seebright here on AO3) for the help with some phrasing/grammar stuff here, if you want a real long and real good fic to read go check their "Where Song Lies Still"!

If they had to describe the way the day began, they'd probably think of the word _unusual_.

From waking on their bed after having fallen asleep somewhere else the night prior, to going to the kitchens and taking the initiative instead of waiting for breakfast to be delivered to their room. And now, after finishing their meal and tidying things as best as they could before leaving the dining hall, even the gardens held surprises.

This one in the form of a bug they were certain they hadn’t seen before, particularly because they hadn’t seen many bugs in the palace who were fluffy, or colored with splotches of black and white. Or flying, for that matter.

They stared up in wonder as the strange bug buzzed a fair distance from the ground, tending to hanging plants with a watering-can and a pair of small clippers dangling from her belt—one of the few things in color on her. The other being her eyes, a tone that was between grayish blue and green, unobstructed by a mask.

But most everyone in the palace used masks. Why would this stranger not do so as well?

They had no way to call for the bug’s attention, but she still seemed to realize someone else was in the garden a few minutes after they found their way there. Her gaze fell to the arch of the doorway, settling on the small Vessel and their deep dark stare. Gently, she fluttered down, the buzzing of her wings growing louder as she approached before stopped completely once she touched the ground.

Hollow froze as the fuzzy bug bowed, unmasked expression cheerful and voice with a gentle accent, buzzing softly under her words. “What a surprise! I thought I was too early to see you awake. Good morning, young princess!” She paused, straightening up. “Or... is it prince, here? You’re the child of the Pale King, correct? He had mentioned the resurgence of a Vessel, from what I was told.”

Hollow, unsure of how to react to the newcomer, and lost on the meaning of a handful of the words she had used, could only struggle to come up with a reply—their difficulty expressed in the time it took to start signing, though their hand remained steady. “Good morning.”

The bug tilted her head, eyes squinting a little. “Signs?” She tapped her claw against her tools, wings buzzing gently behind her for a second before she gave an apologetic look. “I’m rusty with those, my apologies. I will do my best.”

It hadn’t occurred to Hollow that the way they had learned to communicate wasn’t something everyone used. However, the bug gave an encouraging wave of her hand and kneeled down to their height. Questions formed in their head, still swirling with the words she had spoken, but pressing matters had to be tended to first—“Who are you?” They asked, supplying the question with a couple gestures to indicate their confusion and curiosity.

“I’m a royal gardener, come to the Pale King’s land on request from him and my Queen.” She explained. “Usually, my station is in other areas, even going as far as the monument in the City of Tears!” She puffed out her chest, pride bright in her tone. The gesture reminded them of Ogrim.

Hollow tilted their head the other direction, still very much holding the same confusion as before. They knew what a gardener did, had seen them at work—glimpses, but still. Maybe this newcomer had been doing just like all those prior, but they had never seen someone like her.

Hollow pointed a little claw at her and then made a small motion with their hand close to their own chest, splaying their fingers a couple times before signing the letters slowly for the other to grasp. “Fuzzy?”

The bug blinked, mouthing the letters and then the word. “Fuzzy? You’re asking about my fur?” Hollow nodded and she gently hit her fist on her open palm, antennae twitching to attention. “Right! There aren’t many with fur in the palace. Well, you probably could tell already that I’m not like other bugs here and that’s because I am a bee. We bees have fur that helps us collect pollen, so we are great with plants. Makes sense that I’m a gardener, yes?”

Hollow nodded again, bouncing on their heels a little. They reached out; the bee leaned away from their hand. Hollow paused their movement, hand still held out with the palm facing her, both of them in a standstill until the bee spoke.

“Oh, you uh... want to touch it?” She mused, scratching the base of an antennae lightly, eyes and tone apologetic. “Sorry, I don’t usually let people touch me.”

Immediately, they retreated their hand and bowed their head a little, signing their apologies again and again. The bee rose her claws in a pacifying motion, the buzzing in her voice a little more noticeable. “’s okay, ‘s okay! You didn’t know, I’m guessing. Not all bees mind getting touched, ‘s just a preference of mine, no harm done.” With a swift beat of her wings, she rose back to her feet and looked back up. “Either way, I should get back to work! These dears are definitely not getting any more manageable as time passes.”

Hollow quickly started waving their hand again, prompting her to wait for a moment and try to decipher what they were saying with some difficulty.

“Doing...? Oh, what am I doing?” She smiled, taking a moment to nudge a couple fallen leaves and trimmed branches with her foot into a small pile. “Little ol’ me is simply taking care of a few loose ends! See, the gardeners here are great—must be, how else would they be allowed to tend to the royal gardens!—but I am called down every couple of weeks or so to help with the ones higher up, since many here simply can’t reach them safely...” She paused, patting a little bag hanging from her belt. “Plus, this time around, I was asked to leave a couple surprises in hard to reach places. Gotta keep the spiderling entertained! That’s what my Queen had said after your King explained in a letter how she would cause such trouble. Or so the tales say, at least!” She finished, trailing off into a laugh.

They nodded, filled with even more questions after the explanation, and gave a little wave of farewell as the bee curtsied and went back into the air, focusing again on the plants. Hollow stayed for a couple moments longer, simply watching her work—snipping away unruly vines and leaves, occasionally reaching into the bag on her belt and taking out something small enough to hide in her palm and leaving it amongst the leaves before moving to yet another planter and doing the same all over again.

So mesmerized they were watching her work, they almost didn’t hear the retainer approach until he cleared his throat, a scant couple feet from where they stood.

They looked up at the retainer, watching him give a short bow before speaking up. “Young Vessel, the King has requested your presence. Accompany me, if you will.”

They nodded, giving one last glance at the working bee and then stepping away from the threshold. The retainer turned and started down the now familiar halls, silence settling between them.

A little too heavy, they felt, though they had little way to break it.

The retainer cleared his throat after a couple long halls were passed, about halfway to their destination, and the Vessel perked up in attention as he started speaking, even if a little hesitant. “It is good to know you’ve been healing well, very pleasant indeed. Was it true? That you’ve been learning the language of hands?”

Hollow, all too eager to please and show, made sure to keep their hand in as clear a view as they could without jogging ahead of him. “Yes.”

“Ah. Do forgive my ignorance, is it true, then, that you cannot make much sound at all?”

The Vessel tilted their head. They could make sound, just that no one (just one) seemed to be able to hear them clearly. But how to explain that? When no one could hear you, were they the deaf ones or you the mute one? They clicked softly, bringing their hand to their mask and tapping their knuckles gently against their temple in thought.

The retainer stuttered, his eyes apologetic behind the mask covering his expression, though his hands were clasped tight behind his back. “M-my apologies, Young Vessel. I didn’t mean rudeness.”

Hollow shook their head, chirping as loud as they could manage so he could hear them. “It’s ok. Little sounds, no speak.” ‘Like you’, they wanted to add, but refrained. “Learning words, can understand and reply, so-so. Writing and signs.”

They wondered, briefly, what it would be like if they didn’t have these tools. Nothing but gestures, hoping to make themself understood but depending on the other party to get whatever they meant without much a clear way to clarify. It sounded frustrating, and they were grateful for the opportunity they had been given.

At the same time, it could be an interesting challenge they’d have to face. They had been lucky so far that most every bug they had interacted could understand their rough signs in some level, but what about outside the palace? What of someone that couldn’t understand the language of hands? They pondered the possibilities, how they could possibly try to face that happenstance, to the point they only half-listened to the retainer when he announced they were at their destination after a couple moments of them simply standing in place outside the room after he stopped. 

Hollow shook their head, looking up at him and giving a quick thank you before entering the room.

* * *

The King could only listen to so many worries and reports before his focus ran thin in the present. He was a creature of seclusion, of limited contact, and, quite frankly, he really would rather go back to his workshop and tinker about or oversee the next plans for expansions and repairs of the many delicate systems that kept the main city of his kingdom a shining gem. As fate would have it, he was to sit on his throne and listen to bugs who seek him out for advice or audience until the line of the day was done with—from what he knew, and had Seen, at least today’s line wouldn’t drag on for too long.

So much good his Foresight did, without giving him an exact number for how many would come. A fitting punishment, he thought dryly, as he watched the latest bug in a line that seemed infinite bow after he gave his verdict on their worries, turning to the retainer and disappearing down the halls once again. There was a lull at the moment, early enough in the day that other bugs with their concerns would take longer to arrive.

Still, he thought of what the one that just left had pained about. He had heard similar, and he could not give a different answer than what he had before. Most of them felt the same, blending in with each other, and it would be easy if it weren’t so concerning.

The same worries, coming from so many different sources. More sightings of red mists that seemed to vanish into thin air when one looked directly or for too long; encouragement to keep the communication as controlled as possible, lest something they don’t want managed to sneak through defenses and cause damage to an unfortunate community. His claws tapped against the armrest momentarily.

He looked up to see Hollow entering the throne room and straightened, scanning quickly to ensure only they were present. “How did you rest, Hollow?”

The Vessel chirped. “No other bad dreams. Not tired.” They paused for a moment. “Saw a different gardener. Bee.”

The King stood, humming in acknowledgement. “She is a trusted and fine worker, originally from the Hive. For you to have seen her, then, you must have woken earlier than usual.”

Hollow nodded loosely, tapping their claws against their mask before they replied, curiosity blooming in their chest. “Asked if I was your child. Am I?” They tilted their head as he stumbled on the step off the platform the throne rested on.

He shook himself, wings fluttering for half a moment as he regained his footing, his voice strangely steady for his earlier reaction. “I... yes. You are my child, that’d be a proper term. How did that come up?”

“Bee greeted me, said she wasn’t sure if prince or princess, settled for King’s child. Which one would be?”

“Between those options? Whichever you feel comfortable with. Both are essentially the same—the child of the royalty of a kingdom. The terms merely change based on the child’s gender, though occasionally the culture might be the one that defines a preference towards a term.” As he spoke, his tone returned to its usual rhythm, instead of the carefully neutral from before; he continued before they had the chance to ask. “Gender is a wide spectrum, from those who consider themselves male, to female, and everything in between and outside of that pattern. While ‘prince’ is associated with the male gender, it can be considered the default in some places, just as ‘princess’ is the default in the Hive, where the bees hail from. There is also the option of a neutral term, though uncommon enough in jargon that I wouldn’t judge a non-native speaker for not being aware of, which would be ‘prinx’.” 

Hollow quickly found themself at his side after he started walking past them towards the door, entranced by the explanations. The King continued speaking, hands vaguely gesturing as he did so. “All those terms are legitimate titles to call oneself, much like Monarch is the neutral term utilized by the head royalty, in place of King or Queen.” Shaking his head, he turned his attention on them. “Multiple titles, yes, that is quite possible for you, some of which might come from the journey you quest through.”

They didn’t know if the fluttering in their stomach that came with those words was from excitement or anxiety, but they still clicked quietly and nodded, their shoulders set and attentive. Their hand emerged from their cloak after a second, tapping their claws on their mask as if remembering something before they asked. “Asked for me? Where are we going?”

“Ah yes, I neglected to inform you, didn’t I.” The King muttered to himself, a twinge of something like self-reprimand in his voice before he replied. “In the coming days, I will visit the City of Tears, crown jewel of our kingdom, and you will accompany me. In the meantime, your lessons with the Great Knights shall continue. Pay close attention to their teachings. Perhaps in the near future, you’ll be taught by the others, but for now Ogrim and Isma will work together to teach you basics, correct your stances, and judge your abilities to know what to strive for. Right now, however, you are to get fitted for your new reinforced cloaks, and to see which materials seem more correct for you.”

They tilted their head a little, picking the edge of their cloak and glancing down at the fine weaving of the silvery thread.

The King hummed, shaking his head subtly, once, in what could be amusement if one squinted. “I was informed, after all, that pale tones are not the best to use during training and combat.” He glanced out a window as they passed, looking at the garden. “And that there could be a preference for other colors.”

* * *

“Morning, Tailor.” The King greeted, pushing the door to a room Hollow couldn’t recall ever opening or being told what was held inside. There, a beetle stood by a sturdy, dark-gray table with some textile materials, pulling a small stack of parchments from a drawer.

They turned and dipped their head in a small bow. “Morning to you, my King.” They glanced up, pushing their glasses up from where they had slid a little with the movement, their mask covering the bottom-half of their face to not disturb them, and painted with intricate designs in beige on one side, leaving the other blank. “And morning to you too, Vessel. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Hollow bowed their head slightly in greeting, straightening to see them starting to approach them and freezing as they started humming and ha-ing as they shifted the cloak they were wearing. “Using your cloak was useful for the construction of this one, but I can already see some seams that could be hidden better, perhaps adding some more personality too. Such quick notice...” They stood up again and made a beeline to the table, uncapping a small inkwell and taking a quill in hand, scribbling on the parchment.

Hollow turned to look at the King with what he could almost describe as a bewildered, pleading look. He tilted his head gently to the side, nudging them forward to stand closer to a stool near a couple curtains, in front of a large mirror. “The tailor made these with the measurement taken from your previous one. It was, however, damaged; the ones created from it could fit, yes, but perhaps not as seamlessly. They will measure you in order to do a more seamless job, as well as offer suggestions.”

They nodded slowly in understandment and the tailor came back, holding a long line of some material with small marks along the length. They bid them to stand on the stool and started flitting around them, muttering numbers under their breath and asking them occasionally to lift their arms or tilt one way or the other.

For the most part, they simply had to stand and wait still as the tailor did their work, writing down on the parchment they had moved closer to themself. “Some modifications to what I had, small things, but surely my next works will be to your liking, Vessel.” They hummed, straightening themself up with a small creak of limbs. “Now, is this for any particular occasion? Formal, plain, work...”

Hollow looked up at the King instead. 

“The Vessel will be training, as such a couple sets to withstand the activity would be required, contact any other you need for the materials and labor. One of the Great Knights will come later to give specifics on what they consider would be fitting for them, though I was informed chainmail is likely the better option.” He explained, watching as the tailor nodded and wrote down on a fresh parchment the information. “A cloak for travel as well, you may add as many details as you wish or leave it simple, I trust your judgement.”

The tailor chittered gently, fixing their glasses again. “Of course, thank you, sir. I’ll be sending a request later, with your permission. I’m assuming at least one set for daily activities as well?”

He nodded. “As back-up, not a priority.”

“Understood, now... materials.” They turned away, beckoning with their claws as they moved towards what looked like a nook made with shelves. “Come, I must know at least some of the preferences for textures and colors.” Hollow stood still for a moment before starting after them, hearing the soft shuffle of multiple legs as the King followed as well.

* * *

By the time they had finished their business with the tailor, Hollow felt their head spinning with the different choices, how some materials were so pleasant they wanted to bury their face against them while others made them cringe away, and they were left in awe at the variety of colors available. Though they gravitated towards the greens, just like their original cloak, though they weren’t particularly against any of them.

With the promise that they would get to work as soon as they had written and sent off a letter, the tailor closed the door gently behind them with a amicable headtilt and a click. The King sighed and told Hollow to head for the training room, as he had duties to attend to now, before they parted ways.

The room was empty when they entered, glancing around to see the ground still inconspicuously disturbed from the match the day prior, now able to recognize the patterns after seeing Ogrim’s ability. They changed to their other cloak and made their way to a shelf with weapons securely held in place with fine white lines. Carefully, they plucked the small, soft-wood nail they had used the day prior from its place without too much difficulty, hopping off the platform to the middle of the earthy section and starting to practice the stances they had been shown.

It was likely only minutes later when Isma opened the door and caught them trying to balance the nail on their palm, playfully swaying from side to side—and then jumping a foot in the air when they noticed her. 

She was smiling, her giggles ringing in her voice even as she swallowed them down. “Sorry for the wait, little Vessel. I see you’re eager to continue your lesson! Ogrim might join us later, he was told by a retainer that the tailor would like to speak with one of us.” She closed the door behind her. “He might not appear at all if they ask him to run some errands, though. He’s very eager to help.”

Hollow nodded before running towards her, leaving the nail on the step before skidding to a stop and waving their hand for her attention. Isma tilted her head, the short vines and leaves bobbing with the motion, before kneeling down to their height, uttering a small sound to prompt them to continue.

They forced themself to stop bouncing, shoulders raising and falling for half a second like they were taking a breath to steady themself, and then started signing. “Hollow. My name is Hollow!”

Isma’s eyes crinkled in delight, her hands clapping in front of her. “Oh! What a pleasure, such an honor, little Hollow! Wait until dear Ogrim hears too, that’d be okay, yes?” They nodded eagerly, miming a round shape and signing ‘yes’ again and again.

* * *

Ogrim didn’t appear during the lesson, which consisted of more exercises to raise their stamina and going over the stances they had seen before. Isma mentioned that they would likely need to change slightly when they finally had a weapon of their own, to accomodate for the weight and the length of it, but having the basics mastered would let the transition happen with more ease.

A knock on the door marked the end of it, opening to reveal a familiar beetle who bowed and greeted them with her cheerful tone. “Good morning, it is nearing time for lunch. I’ll be taking the Vessel to refresh, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course. Good work today as well, little one. I know you’re a bit sore, so remember to try and rest during the afternoon.” Isma nodded, accepting the nail as they handed it to her so they could follow Chonne.

She opened the door for them and they went down the familiar hallways, though she quickly stopped when they started waving for her attention. “What is it, little Vessel?”

“Name!”

“... name?” She paused for half a second before startling, her voice raising with surprise. “Oh, yours? Did you choose a name?” They nodded and she chirped. “How nice! Does that mean you want to share it with me?” They nodded again.

“Hollow.”

“An honor, Hollow.” She smiled, clear in her voice even though hidden behind her mask. “I will keep it safe, or would you like to have others know it?”

They shook their head. “Not yet.”

“Understood. But oh, how have you been today? I didn’t see you in the morning, I was nearly concerned something had happened.” She giggled as they started to sign excitedly, the two of them beginning the walk back to Hollow’s room.


	7. Colors Within Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the time comes when one can't push something back any longer, and one must face what is kept behind glass.

The following days were filled with lessons and routine, though sprinkled with unexpected occasions. Such as the delivery of a simple, but gorgeous, cloak in a muted green with a decorative pattern in silver on the collar two days after the visit to the tailor, with the explanation that it was plain-clothes for day-to-day, not made for training. It was such a soft material Hollow couldn’t stop rubbing it against their mask and between their fingers when idle, much to the amusement of anyone who found them in such a state.

Another had been the moment they saw Ogrim again after he came back from wherever the tailor had sent him to. The instant Hollow told him their name, he scooped them in his arms and squeezed them with an elated, booming laugh that hid their little squeak. Isma had to convince him to let them go so they could begin the lesson of the day and, even then, he still patted between their horns fondly every chance he got.

Later that day, the King had informed them they were to leave for the City that afternoon. True to his word, Chonne came to fetch them from the garden an hour or so after lunch with a dark green-gray cloak in hand, (a prototype of the travelling one, she explained, which they could see in the much thicker, resistant material it was made of), leading them to one of the waiting rooms near the entrance of the palace and staying with them until the King came to lead them away.

A Kingsmould accompanied them out of the Palace Grounds. Its marching purposeful and mechanical, a contrast to the nigh-silent skitter of the King’s steps or the light bounce of Hollow’s. The closer they got to the entrance to the stag station, the more excitement seemed to exude from Hollow’s steps until they went ahead, hearing no scolding or call from the King, and skipped further in.

The station was as immaculate as they remembered the first time, though now they took the time to glance at the delicate filigree and metalwork of the different structures, including the details on the signs that hung high above them in the air. Their hand curled around the railing protecting from accidental falls onto the stagway as they focused on decoding each of the different names of the stations.

From the top, the one they had gone to a time ago: Dirtmouth. Then there was Crossroads... Greenpath—was that not the area Isma hailed from? They thought they’d hear that... After that was Queen...? Queen’s Station?

They had heard that title, a couple days prior. The gardener bee had mentioned someone with that Name, someone she followed. About the same importance as the King, but different? Would the stag lead directly to her? ... what was the name of _this_ station?

They would have pondered more, or even asked, had they not been brought back out of their thoughts by the echoing ringing of the bell. Hollow turned in time to look at the King standing by the boarding’s opening, the Kingsmould standing next to the bell and still holding its heavily armored claw over it.

Pounding came from the tunnel and they perked up, joining the King and trying to glance into the dark tunnel from which the path came and led to. The King brought a hand out of his sleeve and rested it on their shoulder, gently pulling them back.

“Behind the carved mark. Accidents can happen.” He hummed, they could only give a small nod before a stag ran into the station, skidding to a stop and shaking his head quickly. He glanced up at them and bowed his head. Hollow felt the beginning of disappointment as they realized they didn’t recognize this stag—he lacked the thicker tuffs of whiskers and the horn was smaller, plus his voice, when he spoke, sounded more winded and younger than the low grunts of the one they had met before.

“Your Majesty, it’s an honor to serve you. My apologies, if I had known it was you who would ride with us, I’d have prepared.” The stag came closer to the platform, lowering slightly to make it easier to climb on his back.

“At ease.” The King nodded, nudging Hollow to the seat and climbing on after they found their way up. His tail curled slightly on the space on the seat and, unconsciously, he kept a hand on Hollow’s shoulder as they curled their claws on the security rail. They did recall, after all, how big a jolt it was when they started going. “To the City of Tears. Storerooms.”

The stag huffed in acknowledgement and trotted onward, slowly circling the small space and then shooting down the tunnel with a speed that the Vessel remembered but still wasn’t quite ready for yet, finding solace in the fact the King’s hand never left them, making sure they wouldn’t jolt out of the seat.

* * *

The ride was far shorter than they anticipated, Hollow realized, as the stag started slowing down what still felt like a quarter of an eternity later. They raised their head to look around the station—much smaller and more utilitarian than the one in the palace grounds, though this area still rang much too quiet to be of usual public use.

“City’s Storerooms, your Majesty.” The stag panted as he finally settled next to the empty station. “The section out of public view, sir. Unless you wish me to deliver you there?”

“This will suffice, thank you.” The King replied, climbing out of the seat and touching down with quiet rustling on the metal of the floor. Hollow carefully unhooked their claws from the rail and shifted to follow him, legs shaking minimally as they hopped onto the station as well. They looked back at the stag, finding him watching them with curious, large dark eyes, and bowed their gratitude—earning a small, startled snort from the larger bug as he looked away, trotting down the tunnel as a bell was rung close by.

“Come, Hollow.” They looked over as the King called, hurrying slightly to catch up with him as he opened a door. A tunnel opened before them, the simple structure illuminated by the gentle glow emanating from the King, and they soon came upon a different platform, the sound of movement and chatter audible. Not directly the same area as the common folk’s platforms, but mingling enough to let them enter the public paths with ease.

The sound became clearer, though now gaining a different note that bounced in the air in a way that almost felt like the gibberish of the shadows, but with even less meaning. They were too distracted by that conundrum to realize a hush had befallen the area from actual voices, turned to mumbles and whispers that mixed with the sound, now giving it more of a shadow-like feeling.

The King nodded to the bugs that had stopped as they took notice of him, whispering to each other and staring in awe, but didn’t do much else to regard them. He simply walked onward and Hollow trailed him like a shadow, glancing at the different structures with amazement, fist held to their chest as they slowly took in the detailed carving of the walls and archways and even the floor. 

The sound became louder.

The City of Tears opened before them and Hollow could only run towards one of the large glass walls encapsulating one of the hanging bridges between the different corridors and buildings, resting their hand against the cool surface and craning their neck to try and see everything.

The rain kept the visuals low, fogging the view with silvery curtains, but they could still see the detailed craft of the imposing buildings, seemingly carved from the rock itself, though the occasional, large shell-like figure left them wondering what the material truly was. They knew, at least, there was a lot of metal reinforcing structures or adding to their aesthetic: the pointed spears decorating many of the roofs and outer edges of balconies, the hanging paths and elevators that allowed for mobility of those bugs that lacked flight or carried heavy or many goods, the very bridge they stood upon was built with the material.

That and the glass. Large windows that allowed the views, breathtaking to witness for people new to the area, if not for the craft then for the sheer scale.

The King called for them and they quickly looked over, falling into step next to him. “Most corridors don’t have glass panels quite this large. It is a design choice; people who arrive for the first time to the City of Tears will either take this path or the building directly going to the bottom floor. It allows them to witness the magnificence of this, the crown jewel of Hallownest.”

Hollow nodded, glancing back at the window one last time before a stone wall finally overtook it, having reached one of the towering buildings the corridor led to. The King bid them to follow and turned down a path. A myriad of different bugs were in the halls, their chatter exchanged for hushed whispers of wonder and surprise at the sight of the King; most of them gave shaking greetings and bows, a couple staring on in awe, and yet some quickly running inside other rooms—stores—housed in the spire.

The King remained as steadfast as ever, immutable to the whispering and the glances, and doing the minimum of raising a hand in amenable greeting and giving the rare nod to the bugs—not a single word left him until a sentry approached and saluted, standing straight as a nail’s edge.

“Your Majesty! We knew not that you were coming to the City, may we offer you company, sir?”

“At ease. It won’t be necessary, the way to the Sanctum is straightforward and it will be a matter tended to swiftly.”

Hollow stood by, watching the exchange curiously and glancing at the whispering groups of citizens who hadn’t yet continued their path, sending furtive glances towards them. They shifted closer to the King, carefully grasping the edge of his sleeve in their tiny claws, and tilted their head. One of the bugs in one scattered group rose their hand to cover their mouth. They thought they heard an ‘aww’.

The King started walking, leaving the sentry to their patrol, and they were quick to match his pace, trying not to disturb or slow him even while keeping a fist on his clothes.

Soon enough, a large building opened before them, the elegant entrance crowned by a beautifully painted sign, the words ‘Soul Sanctum’ nearly aglow in white against the dark, bluish-gray of the stone. The King flicked his tail subtly under his cloak, the motion only barely noticeable to Hollow who had a hand on the cloth, torn from their curious staring to glance up at him.

The King didn’t even seem to notice and stepped past the threshold, Vessel in tow, where a voice immediately greeted them. A beetle with beautiful robes and a shiny circlet with a jewel on her forehead was quick to approach them, bowing deeply, her dark eyes shining in awe. “Your Majesty! It’s an honor to have you in our humble edifice, thank you once again for answering to the Master’s missive.” Her voice dropped slightly when she noticed the Vessel standing at his side, blinking at them. “Oh. We didn’t know a... child would accompany you.”

“I had to see with my own eyes what your progress was. The situation is quite pressing.” The King said, his tone a low, strange one Hollow hadn’t heard prior. It wasn’t bitter, but it certainly lacked the clear, inquisitive lilt that would fill his voice whenever something that truly called for his interest presented itself. Subtly dull. The beetle didn’t seem to notice as she shook her head and smiled widely again.

“Of course, this way, please!”

The halls of the Sanctum were gorgeously crafted, details etched into niches and pillars, and delicately decorating the windows that overlooked the city on the far side where a long spiral staircase lead them upwards, lanterns with lumaflies within each shining a swirl of colors from behind their tinted glass containers. It was almost enough to distract Hollow from the conversation.

“Oh, your Majesty! I’m unsure if the Master mentioned it, but on a recent experiment we’ve found that feeding the lumaflies with Soul-infused feed allows them to remain lively for even longer than previously recorded, a couple of the case studies can be found along this ascent. As we go upwards, we can see more of the effects on them, and it became clearer to see after comparing it from behind certain colors; it’s quite impressive work too, the artistry district of the city has some very qualified and creative workers, it was an honor to be able to commune with them for something that is as beautiful as it is functional.” The beetle spoke with minute excitement, gesticulating with her claws and hardly slowing down, her steps barely touching the ground as she continued leading them through the building, glancing back every so often to look at the King. He kept his head held high and gaze steady, a perfect image of someone absorbing the information shared, but hardly anything other than that.

He did stop for a moment when Hollow, still with their claws tangled on his cloak, stopped to glance closer at a beautifully patterned stain glass that went nearly from floor to ceiling on one of the tallest niches, depicting a beauty resembling a curtain of green vines and achingly detailed flowers of various colors, from warm pinks to shining periwinkle, most which they had never seen before even with the beauty and care of the palace’s gardens.

Hollow untangled their hand and went to approach the stain glass, entranced by the colors and the vague thought of how soft the petals should be, like a dream. They stilled when the beetle took a step towards them, hand outstretched and hesitant.

“O-oh, please be careful if you touch it. It is quite delicate.” The beetle warned. They nodded and took another careful step to it, tilting their head and admiring it for a moment longer before turning towards her and signing a single word:

“Pretty.”

The King tilted his head, glancing down at them as they looked at the artwork again, and then towards the beetle who was now waiting a couple stairs ahead, tapping her claws together anxiously. “They commented on the beauty of it, I’m inclined to agree. It is impressive work, quite a delicate technique. However, about those curious findings. How are the feeds being infused with Soul?” He asked, touching Hollow’s shoulder with a hand to steer them away, a motion they followed obediently, and nodding to prompt the beetle to continue leading and speaking.

The beetle brightened at the question, turning just enough that she wouldn’t be climbing backwards, but trying to maintain her attention on them. “The way the feed is grown, your Majesty! Carefully monitoring the environment in which the plants used for this purpose take root, and watering them accordingly; if they grow in an area rich with Soul in the air, they absorb it, watering them with Soul-infused water works as well, a combination of both factors made the best results. However...” She hesitated for a second, struggling to come up with the correct words. “Some of the tests showed that something too rich in Soul would actually overwhelm the lumaflies. They would shine the brightest, but shortly after they... would all... deform?”

The King hardly batted an eye at the information, instead prompting her for other details on the process. Hollow half listened as they walked, looking at a small collection of jars on another space on the wall, a label with small writing stark against the dull light in the glass. They saw a blob within one, almost more a slightly raised film than anything else.

* * *

Throughout the rest of the way, the beetle talked about one matter or another that the Sanctum was studying, extracting only the smallest of prompts from the King to continue talking as they passed by shelves and doors that she pointed out—it reminded them of Chonne, though this beetle seemed to grow ever more hesitant with the short replies her words extracted, unlike the retainer.

“Here we are, the Master’s office. I’m certain he has other information to share, your Majesty.” She glanced at Hollow, shuffling her stance before carefully venturing: “Would you like me to look after th—"

“We appreciate the escort, though I frankly doubt we’ll need guidance on the way out. Return to your post.” The King said, cutting her off even when his voice hardly seemed to raise over the tapping of the rainfall, lower than hers even. He opened the door and marched forward, Hollow at his side.

She tried to reach and halt them for a moment, but both she and the Vessel froze as a much larger bug rose from a chair, two short, dark horns on his crown and the small cluster of jewels on his forehead catching the light almost as much as his white-tinted eyes. He grinned a wide smile, approaching the newcomers with a grandeur to his multiple steps and giving a sweeping bow.

“My King, it’s an honor to have you visit us.” He spoke, voice a welcoming, deep rumble. His eyes fell on the apprentice. “Your service has been enough, perhaps you should tend to your team’s experiments?”

She chirped, bowing with a motion of her whole body and closing the door.

The King, immutable, stood a couple paces into the room as the Soul Master’s attention returned to him... and the child standing at his side. “Is that...?”

Hollow felt a hand rest against their back, a small, soothing motion and a weight that finally rested on their shoulder as the King spoke. “There were matters you wished to speak about, Soul Master. If you’d please proceed. The Vessel will be allowed to explore the room, they will not share your findings if that’s what concerns you.”

Hollow took that as both permission and an order, stepping away from the King and wandering off towards a large window, still entranced by the rivulets running against the glass, a different section of the city in clear view from this side of the sanctum.

A myriad of cool colors where gray and blue predominated, and the splashes of warm yellow and white from what they guessed could be streetlights or the inside of occupied buildings. And far in the distance, at ground level, a blurry whorl of green and white they couldn’t make much sense of.

The Soul Master stared at the Vessel who had wandered a small distance away, his dark eyes misted with the white of Soul. “My King, you didn’t have to bring it here. Surely we have made enough progress not to need to stud—”

“The Vessel is not to be studied by you or anyone, Baliel.” The King cut him off with a rattling hiss that settled icily in his chest, quiet enough it didn’t call for the child’s attention as they rested their hand against the tall window, leaning to look out at the distant shapes of neighboring buildings and paths distorted by water.

Hollow looked up at the sound of the Soul Master backing against a shelf, making the little stone tablets rattle against each other and shudder against a large glass jar. The King hadn’t moved an inch, not even a flit of his wings against his cloak.

He quickly composed himself, fixing his cloak and clearing his throat, gentle skitter of his legs shuffling to allow a more proper posture covered by his words. “Of course, my King. I merely thought—”

“And I will not dawdle. I have read your missives and hypotheses, and I have told you: Soul is not suitable to contain Nightmares. These experiments will not breed the fruits you wish for.”

Hollow nearly felt intimidated at the tone, however calm and quiet as it was, and realized their disquiet was at the presence the King exuded at that moment, chilling and much larger than it should be, and knew it was caused by anger barely bitten back.

To his credit, the Soul Master was quick to regain his footing and some level of confidence, insistently moving forward, closer to the silk scrolls he had been pouring over before they walked in. “My King, I understand your concerns, and I’m aware of how farfetched it all sounds, but—"

“Master of the Sanctum, you will bring danger into the heart of my City to test a hypothesis.” The Pale King uttered, his voice going as steady as the ice over a stream. “Soul is powerful, it has properties few energies manageable by bugs have, it’s a power that few can wield properly, and I’m aware you know much from the reports and studies that have sprouted from this institution. It’s been a lifetime’s research and the cooperative work of a number of scholars. And yet I commended you for still seeking ways to control and use it for the benefit of common folk.” He folded his hands before himself, glancing with certain disdain at the contents of the office. “I have approved of those studies, so long as you provide reports and the source of your studies is ethical—I have provided you with exclusive access to a hot spring rich with the element for that very reason.”

“My King, the danger the Nightmares create affects the common folk. It would be disingenuous to not—”

“I have arrived, personally, to warn you.” The King whispered lowly, words layered with an ice that killed the Soul Master’s own, silencing him. “I, who know soul as keenly as you your own claws, will tell you that Soul cannot contain Nightmare for long, and to try for such a feat is useless.”

The Soul Master stepped forward, ready to defend his thoughts and to provide other arguments for his hypotheses—a shadow of offense covering his face as he spoke. And yet they didn’t hear his words.

A small sound, like a bubbling nervous giggle, drifted from somewhere. Hollow froze, hearing it as clearly as they heard the sheer whispers of the live shadows, and turned to look at the source, gaze meeting a closed door. Almost as if entranced, they walked towards it, grasping the handle and turning it with the softest click.

They pushed the door enough to get their mask through the crack comfortably and peeked inside. The room was large and circular, enclosed completely and with large shelves of jars and tablets and delicate scrolls stacked carefully, enormous spools of silk unraveling in different directions. The sounds were muffled, without the constant pattern of rainfall due to a lack of windows. In the middle of the room, surrounded by intricate rune work made with both chalk and silk, was a jar and a couple apprentices of the Sanctum with their heads bowed.

The jar held wisps of white, shifting like cold flames, and the harsh burn of red amongst them. The giggle came again as the colored flames licked against the glass, quieting when the Soul covered the breach until it was a bright pink tone, slowly losing color until the red poked through the barrier again.

Hollow jumped as a third beetle came into view, hissing at them in a hurried whisper. “What do you think you’re doing here?! This is delicate work!”

The Vessel recoiled, chancing another glance at the interior of the room.

A small mask appeared in the flames, squinting its eyes at them.

A sharp, loud cackle broke through the tense silence and the apprentices flinched, even the third turning around swiftly—only to bump one of the shelves with their twist. A pile of stone tablets clattered to the floor, making everyone jump. The subtle glow of the runes and string faded as the apprentices turned to face the source of the sound, something between surprise and panic in their expressions.

The giggling grew louder and the jar launched off the platform it was resting on, exploding into glass shards and white liquid that faded into mist. The red flame spread on the floor like a living, flickering carpet, and, seconds later, Hollow stared at the squinted eyes of a mask inches from their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: the name 'Baliel' for the Soul Master comes from Clockie's fics (ClockworkRainbow here on Ao3 and RadioactiveSupersonic on tumblr!), thank you for letting me use this name, and please do go check out his works! ovob  
> And second: thank you all for reading and leaving comments and kudos! They really do make me feel better while working on this, I hope you guys enjoy this story and what is yet to come!


	8. Flames to Kindle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One must be quick-witted to put lessons taught and learned into practice.

“We shall begin the lesson.”

Hollow watched from the edge of the wooden platform, their hand curled into a fist at their side.

Isma stood in the middle of the dirt expanse of the training area, her shoulders loose and feet apart. Her voice carried easily in the still silence of the air: “Remember, Hollow, being aware of your surroundings can be crucial. But sight isn’t the only sense that can be used for that.” She waved her hand, beckoning them forward.

They hopped off onto the dirt, approaching her until she rose her hand to halt them. They kept their eyes on her as she spoke, crossing her arms behind her back and tilting her head a little.

“Vibrations are one such important giveaway of something approaching, and they can come in different manners. For example, sound—someone knocking on a door before entering is a warning given, correct?”

They nodded, tapping their claw against their thumb under their cloak. Isma nodded back, shifting her stance a little as she continued.

“That is considered polite, but many times politeness doesn’t have a place in the battlefield. At least not in the same way. There are some rules of honor to be had: don’t attack someone who is without a weapon, don’t kick someone who is already down, amongst others. These are easier and required to be followed if one is training with friends. However, enemies do not always follow the same rules with each other, especially if it’s a matter of survival; and wild life does not need to follow such arbitrary rules. In those cases, you need to be perceptive.” She brought her hand into view and curled her fingers.

Hollow jumped as something coiled at their feet, almost losing their balance as they jerked away from a vine that had carefully crawled out of the dirt and reached loosely for their leg, only to fall limp as they moved away.

“My apologies for spooking you, dear.” She said, sincerity in her tone breaking the seriousness from before for a couple moments before she could continue. “But not everyone will give a warning willingly—an enemy is very unlikely to tell you where they’re going to swipe. But there are usually _tells_ that can warn you of something coming.”

“Warning?” They asked, shaking off the last of their unease as they focused on her and the lesson, eager to understand more.

“Yes. Some are so loud, or rather, noticeable, that they become overwhelming—Ogrim’s digging, for example. But he’s perfected it to a great speed and creating enough distraction that guessing where he’s coming from is quite difficult for a foe unused to his style.” She kneeled, resting one hand on their shoulder. “Others, like that vine, can be much more subtle but still have small tells that can warn you if you can perceive them at the right moment, like a hand movement.”

Hollow nodded, raising their hand to their mask and tapping at it in thought before starting to sign. “Something loud so it’s hard to know where it’ll pounce from, or something quiet it’s hard to see coming. But both have tells.”

Isma nodded, eyes squinting a little, a ring of pride in her voice directed at them. “That’s the idea. Now, let me ask you this, little Hollow. Do you know how to perceive these tells?”

“Feel. Sound. See.”

“Correct. You need your senses for all these, and do you know how to hone with a particular one, when you think there’s something that you want to catch?”

Hollow pondered that question, raising their hand and tapping at their mask as Isma waited patiently. Seconds passed before they allowed their hand to drop and shook their head dejectedly. Isma squeezed their shoulder a little before replying—

* * *

A pillar of blinding white sprouted from the ground directly in front of them, cutting off their sight from the mask and its owner, who cackled playfully as it immediately whirled away from the Soul lance, easily dodging the stab. Hollow turned their head sharply, trying to follow the sound and keep eyes on the strange creature that was its source, coming up empty handed other than the vaguest red mist that dissipated much too quickly, just like the flames dying on the floor with nothing to fuel them.

In the main office behind them, the Soul Master gingerly made to break the silence that followed the fading giggles. “My King...”

“ _Save your words, Baliel._ ” The Pale King stated, all the feeling of a booming command without the volume. “And reinforce the spells on the area. This Nightmare Kin must not leave the premises.”

Hollow hardly paid attention to the exchange, eyes darting from one side to the other of the room. They felt it before they could hear it, the strange snicker that trailed in the air mischievously, but they still couldn’t see the creature producing it. And then it popped up, rising from a small burst of scarlet flames and cackling as it zoomed through the air inside the small, enclosed room.

A tiny, round body with little nubs for a tail and arms, and a wisp at the top of its head like the excess cloth of a hood, all in a maroon so dark it was nearly black. With the exception of the mask adorning its face, almost more like the visor of a harlequin in white, with twin lines running down over the eyes.

They shuddered for a second. So similar, so similar to—but the eyes were black, and squinted in arduous thought like it was solving a greatly difficult puzzle, swooping from one side to the other, out of reach from the occupants of the room.

One of the beetles stood up quickly, making a brave attempt to try and physically catch it; the small creature turned to look at him upside down and finally noticed the open door leading out of the room it had been contained in. The creature cackled and coiled in the air, shooting towards the threshold like an arrow.

The beetle gave a terrified, startled cry and threw himself onto the floor, while Hollow ducked as the creature sailed over their head, the vaguest feeling of heat on the tip of their horns following it as if it was more a fireball than a living being.

Neither the Pale King nor the Soul Master moved from where they stood other than to raise their arms—the King’s movement summoning another lance from the ground, intricate and minute details lost in the glowing white, nicking the Nightmare and making it squeak as it poofed in a haze of red and spirographs. Barely a couple seconds passed before it materialized again and blew a raspberry at the King. He couldn’t react to the insolence before it turned and made to zoom straight at the glass.

The direction the Soul Master had focused on.

The Nightmare bounced off the window with a loud ‘ack!’, bright patterns coming to life like webbing as it made contact with a seal that covered the glass—it didn’t so much as shudder at the hit, though the sudden flash did force Hollow to cover their eyes and look away, shaking their head.

“You two, ensure that thing doesn’t leave this room! Guard the door!” The Soul Master barked, glaring at the apprentices who quickly struggled and skittered back on their feet. The third one froze at attention as his eyes settled on him. “And you, get another container!”

The King, instead, focused on following the Nightmare’s movements—erratic, coming in and out of focus in the Waking Realm as it found itself cornered and trying to find a way out. His hands hidden under his sleeves clenched as he felt for his Soul reserves.

Hollow managed to clear the spots from their vision and faced the direction they felt a heat spot, just in time to see the Nightmare come into focus and squint at them.

Fire calls to fire, didn’t the King say.

They stood straight, staring back at it, fist clenched under their cloak and head bowing barely enough to count as a threat display of their horns.

The Nightmare shot towards them and they tensed up, preparing for it to slam into them—and at the last second, they leaped to the side like they had seen Isma do Ogrim’s attacks, feeling the rush of hot air as it sailed past them. A loud clatter and another squeak of both surprise and pain left the strange creature as it hit a shelf, sending scrolls and tablets toppling over loudly, some cracking as they connected against the stone floor.

They stood on light feet, staring at the Nightmare trapped under a couple scrolls, watching as it shook itself and pulled the silk-paper off its head and crinkled it in tiny fists before vanishing in yet another cloud of red smoke. They looked from side to side, trying to guess where it would next come from, and winced as it poofed into view in front of them only to tackle them bodily, hardly giving them a chance to sidestep.

They laid on the floor stunned for a second, still feeling the heat of the headbutt against their chest, and sat up to the loud, mocking laughter of the little creature swirling above them, head raising to look at it in time to see it blow a raspberry. It squinted at them, eyes suddenly malicious rather than merely mischievous, and they could feel the heat rising in the air as it twirled quickly and made to ram them again—

Hollow held up their arm as a flimsy protection, ducking their head as well, only for another flash of white to make them jolt in surprise, looking up to watch the little Nightmare bounce against the stone floor with a squeak of pain from behind a dome of white-gray lines, delicate and glowing and disappearing shortly after.

“On your feet.” The King said, appearing at their side and glaring at the space the Nightmare had laid on a second ago, now only a spear of white cutting through the red haze as it dodged. “You’re in its sights. Don’t stay vulnerable for long.”

They scrambled to stand, the pulse of their void inside their chest quickening. They could feel the heat nearby. They could feel the weakest burning underneath their carapace in response. A beat came from their left and they turned sharply to face it, the King immediately summoning a lance in time to see the Nightmare fly towards Hollow, who jumped out of the charging range and readied for the next attack as it used the momentum to swerve and avoid crashing against more furniture.

The King flittered his wings for half a second, eyes narrowing minutely. He could attack the Nightmare, kill it off, but with it so focused on attacking Hollow, he ran the risk of causing the Vessel damage should they dodge in the wrong direction or be dazed by the flash of the Soul attack—or if he did land, the possibility of the Flames spreading or dissipating without something to capture them properly.

Not acting, however, was also a danger: Hollow had no way to attack the creature in a meaningful or safe manner with their lack of weaponry, and the risk of them growing exhausted and sloppy in their dodging only grew with the length of the encounter and their still low stamina. The Nightmare was honing in on Hollow—it wasn’t trying to escape the room, which should be impossible in the first place with the Soul Master ensuring the spell on the windows remained and the apprentices guarding the doors.

Speaking of... “What’s taking so long?!” The Soul Master barked, turning towards the beetle who stumbled out of the side room.

He looked at him with wide eyes, stuttering out: “N-no jar! None with the s-spell!”

“What?!”

The beetle whimpered as the Soul Master hissed loudly, towering over him. “Th-there was only o-one other that had been p-prepared a-and—it broke when the thing g-got out and c-caused the ruckus!”

“Useless buffoons, all of you!” He snarled, wings buzzing so loudly even the Nightmare and the Vessel grew momentarily distracted and glanced his way, one curious and the other feeling the sound itching under their carapace uncomfortably.

A blade of white sprouted from under the Nightmare, making it squeal in pain and disappear in another poof of red.

“Whether or not your precautions for _this situation_ remain, I doubt you were quite as prepared when you first encountered it.” The King spoke, returning his hands under his sleeves and looking back at the towering cicada. “Contain it.”

Soul Master turned his heated glare away from the beetle with a scoff through gritted mandibles. A hissed, unintelligible grumble under his breath before he spat out the words, again turning at apprentices. “Do something _right_ and prepare the silk!” As he spoke, the Nightmare shot again into view, zipping in front of him with a shrieking cackle, amused by his anger.

He, almost instinctively, swatted his hand at it—flinching away at the heat lingering in the air behind it. The Nightmare blew a raspberry at him before a loud clacking caught its attention, coming from Hollow on the other side of the room having slammed an already cracked tome against the wall with as much strength as they could manage.

The Soul Master mumbled under his breath as his gaze followed the giggling menace who was steadily forcing the Vessel to move around the room, trying to trick them to the piles of fallen things. “That hazard is a flighty one. Luckily, no fire cast this time.”

The King didn’t deign that with a comment of his own. Instead, he pinned down the Soul Master under a glare. “I do not care for the details on how you managed to wrangle it inside a glass container. Repeat the results.”

“Of course.” He replied, his voice smooth and honeyed—and tight like a forced smile. The apprentices scrambled out of the side room, carrying large spools of silvery thread. “A trap and a little Soul will—"

“ _Without_ harming the Vessel.”

The Soul Master clenched his jaw. “My King, that will slow the process and—” The contents of another shelf spilled to the ground and the small Vessel struggled to their feet again, pawing at their side where their cloak had darkened, fabric damaged by heat. “—I would wager that it’ll suffer more damage the long—"

“Start the process and quit wasting time. _Their_ purpose here is not to serve as sacrifice.” The King cut him off. “If you’re unable to cast the trap, fortify the premise.” He clicked quietly as the beetles ran around the furniture, flinching any time the Nightmare or the Vessel got too close to them. He turned to the Soul Master. “Where is the torch it was carrying.”

“I don’t—”

“Where. Is the torch.”

“The other room!” An apprentice squawked a little distance away, tying the thread around a toppled chair’s leg, his quivering worsening when the King’s dark eyes set on him. “It was in the o-other room, your M-majesty...”

“Past tense?”

“I-it was moved to another place—t-to study it and as a p-precaution, a-as the crea—” The apprentice squeaked as the Nightmare bounced off the floor and nearly into them, scrambling behind the line of thread, fickle white shining for a second. The Nightmare shook itself and cackled angrily at Hollow, who held a tome in their hand, ready to deflect it away.

The King twisted his claws and the thread shook, new lines of white bursting from it. The Nightmare froze as a wall of white closed around it like a blanket, trying to jolt away from the encroaching lines at the last second. Its escape was met with a bright ball of yellow-white, bursting into shards of light and sending it back into the silk, ensnaring it and closing like a dome.

The Soul Master huffed, flicking his own claws and grinning sardonically. “Ah, much easier.”

The King paid him little mind, summoning one last blade to hover over his hand. A perfectly white, thin knife with intricate, minute details on its surface, its gentle glow almost imperceptible in the monarch’s own light.

A flick of his wrist and it flew through the air and into the silken bubble, making the apprentice squeak in fear and hold their hands up as if it would have protected them at all. Silence filled the room, breaths held.

Red sizzled from the place the blade embedded into the bubble, like smoke slowly leaving a boiling pot.

Hollow stared at it, frozen where they stood still, clutching their makeshift shield. Whispering filled their mind, thoughts torn from their claws like the flickering and raising essence that sought to escape the things containing it. Raw _something_ desperately trying to flee.

“ _Focus on the energy._ ”

The new voice entered their thoughts like water through cracks, filling them with an ice that was familiar and comforting—but sharp, clear. Not the void, not the shadows. They startled and turned their head minutely to glance at the King, who was focused on the bubble.

They didn’t hesitate to approach it. The intricate patterns tightly woven together, filigree so delicate they only managed to notice the texture from up close. But it was not what they were meant to focus on, was it?

* * *

“Sometimes, especially in the beginning, you need to dull some senses to let the others focus.” Isma hummed, her voice gentle as she stood back up. “Distractions are the best way to mask tells when they are loud, after all.”

Hollow tilted their head, curious.

She brought a hand to her chin, thinking for a couple moments before nodding to herself. “See, an example here.” Her hands in plain view as she started speaking. “Let’s say that if I need to curl a finger to summon a vine, it’d be very easy to tell if you were only looking at my hands, correct? If I start moving my hands, it’d be an added challenge, but it’s still only one sense.”

Hollow nodded. “To make it harder to tell, add other senses?”

“Yes! Or possibly adding yet another distraction in that same sense. Having something or someone moving at the corner of your eyes, just barely out of sight, or so slow and subtle that it’d be difficult to catch.” She hummed, dropping her hands to her sides. “It’s useful to know what you need to focus on when in a particular situation, and how to help yourself focus on it. Removing some distractions.”

They pondered her words for a couple moments, nodding as they tried to grasp the concepts. Isma smiled a little, clapping her hands in front of herself. “Here, a demonstration to begin.” They nodded much more eagerly, leaning forward a little as she changed her stance to begin the lesson.

* * *

Too many visual distractions, find a way to focus on what’s important.

Hollow lowered their head slightly, allowing darkness to cover their sight. In the shadows, things were hidden, and yet oh so clear—right in reach of their clawtips. There was too strong a white light around to ignore it, but if they struggled and fought against its blinding discomfort, they could nearly see the red-pink glow held inside the bubble, trashing against the Soul energy like an enraged, caged creature.

They could see it, vaguely, but knew not what to do after that. Did they have to try to call for it, like they did shadows?

An attempt, a cautious ripple through the darkness of the room, softened (weakened and yet cast) by the presence of Soul all around. The shadows muttered things and replied—and they recoiled from the feeling of it, flinching away from the fear and anger that seemed to collect within them, even when hints of curiosity and wonder tried to poke out as well.

The King narrowed his eyes slightly, claws twitching nigh-imperceptibly as Hollow fought back the sensation with a quick shudder.

“What’s this? Can they not collect it?” The Soul Master hummed lowly, daring to break the tense silence with a curiosity that nearly edged into mockery. “Curious, maybe they have sustained too much damage already. But no matter, if you give us a moment, my apprentices and I will have the Flames sealed again, my King.” He waved his hand, lowering the spells on the windows and snapping his fingers at the three beetles who were still too fearful to move, chittering quietly at each other.

The King took a moment to reply—his voice icy and slow, as if talking with a stubborn child. “Master of the Sanctum, your hubris makes me rethink my choice not to have you escorted to the gallows.” His wings flared before he could react to his threat—promise—dark eyes pinning the large cicada in place. “ _Silence._ ”

Hollow tried to ignore the conversation, from the bugs and from the shadows, noticing the dulling of the white around the room vaguely and feeling the ice creeping into the room with the King’s anger, quieting the nervous chittering of the other occupants. It was in this silence that they tried again, grasping for ideas. Focus on the energy, they had been told.

Soul was cool and wispy, like the feeling that covered them when they first walked through the threshold separating the Ancient Basin from their birthplace. It could be sharp too, and impenetrable. But what was the energy within the sphere? What should it feel like?

Fire. It was supposed to be fire, wasn’t it? What’s fire like...

It was warm.  
No, hot.

It wanted to burn through their carapace like claws digging into stone, into shadows, forcing and coaxing them away. It stung suddenly and all over, consuming, sharp and immaterial and all encompassing, like the heat of the being frantically darting through the air. Like the spells that gnawed at their carapace and dug in with hungry maws.

They hesitated, the mere thought of it making the void in their chest twist uncomfortably, the stump of their arm tingling with the phantom sensation. Fear swelled in their chest and the energy seemed to react to it, swirling with more purpose and crashing against the inside of the sphere.

The King blinked, breaking his glare on the Soul Master and instead staring at the spell he’d weaved. And then let his eyes fall on the little Vessel, noticing the tense set of their shoulders, their cloak wrinkling subtly as they dug claws into the folds.

Hollow was too busy to notice, desperately scrambling for ideas. They had caught the fire’s attention, they could feel it, but what were they supposed to do with it now? Surely, if they didn’t do something soon, it would break through the barrier—nothing can hold forever, nothing, nothing, nothing—and then consume them whole and burn more and more and—

They tried to reign in their thoughts, words of the King coming to mind: they held, within them, traces of that same fire. They had it, and it allowed them attune to it. Uncontrolled and without guidance. They could... they could guide it, perhaps?

They unclenched their claws from their cloak and extended their hand towards the sphere, head bowed slightly as they focused on the feeling of water running down the lines in the windows, of the candlelight shifting shadows in playful shapes. A dance, a cycle.

The red-pink energy shifted and shrunk before expanding and darting into their outstretched palm, heat in the air like a slithering vine with a thorn filled maw ready to snap its jaws on them. Hollow held steady, refusing to flinch away, and it breathed a wave of heat at them before lowering its head and pressing against their palm. Three beats like a heart's thrummed against their claws and then they clenched their hand.

A rush, and their legs shook as temperature rose under their carapace, a crackling whispering inside their head. It sounded like a giggle, almost. The feeling faded after a couple moments that left them exhausted and they stumbled to one knee, unable to keep standing. Heat curled inside their chest and they brought their hand to it, pushing their claws slightly against their chitin until the natural coolness of their void managed to settle the feeling down.

A hand was placed on their back and they cringed a little, turning their head sharply and making themself dizzy before their vision cleared enough to find the King at their side, staring at them with studious attention. He said nothing and instead turned to the dome, raising his hand and swiping his wrist in a gentle motion.

The Soul dispersed like fog once trapped inside a bubble, a pale blanket that quickly rose and faded into the air. Hollow found themself raised into the air, safely cradled in the King’s lower arms and suddenly very thankful for the coolness that he radiated. They started to drift into unconsciousness as the King turned and spoke to the ones in the room.

The rest was hazy, words spoken ending up as white noise that they were only vaguely aware of, and the change of scenery was something they could only akin to scenes in a dream, changing with every blink. From being held by the Pale King to being delicately carried by a beetle following after his glow. The inside of the Soul Sanctum gave way to the sheltered corridors of the City of Tears, the rainfall lulling them back into darkness.

The trotting of the stag beetle was almost as steady as the rain had been, though the movement made them stir a little from their place resting their head on the King’s lap. Hollow shifted a little, feeling the King’s hand twitch and then switch from where it was resting against their shoulder to their chest, securing them in place.

“We’ll be at the palace soon.” He informed them, quiet voice carrying even with the pounding. Hollow leaned into the touch as the King hesitantly patted their head, running the length of a horn with two claws. “There’s much work still to do for your stamina... but well done, for this test of fire.”

They felt a purr rumble in their chest, pleased at the words, before sleep once again overtook them.


End file.
